


Ice's Champion

by dragonfruity



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Azgeda Clarke Griffin, Badass, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Violence, and these ladies have lots of feels, background pairings unless you're clexa, but there might be a few bumps along the way, i have lots of feels, i'm gonna make sure they get the ending they deserve, raven and octavia are the best of bros, the summary doesn't sound like it but this is just an excuse for me to obsess over clexa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-05-01 10:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14518725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonfruity/pseuds/dragonfruity
Summary: When the Dropship lands, it becomes painfully obvious that there has been a slight mishap.Slight mishap (noun):a rather unfortunate scenario in which the corrupt idiots on the Ark send the Delinquents 50 miles north of their target, into the heart of cold, barren, miserable Azgeda territory, rather than the lush forest overflowing with unicorns and rainbows they were promised.Whoops.General Clarke and the Delinquents - those remaining after five years of toil and hardship climbing Azgeda's ranks - are tasked with appeasing the Commander in Polis on the eve of what could very quickly dissolve into an inter-Coalition civil war between their two clans. As she struggles to navigate the murky waters between Azgeda and the Commander's fiery rage, Clarke must hide her true goal: Dethrone Nia and reclaim Azgeda. But now, the Commander is an unknown variable. Will she aid Clarke in her coup, or remain loyal to the Coalition... and Nia?AKAThe badass version of Romeo and Juliet, minus the sad ending, plus a whole lot of gay.





	1. We Are Ice Nation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This first chapter is just the introduction and some catch-up as to how Clarke + the gang got themselves into this mess. Our favorite raccoon-eyed hottie will make her appearance next chapter, which will be set much further in the future!
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been three weeks since the Delinquents were ushered out of the Sky Box, crammed onto the Dropship, and sent careening down to the unexplored, toxic world with their only explanation in the form of a pretty lame three-minute video. Clarke guessed it was supposed to be inspirational: get to Mount Weather, pave the way for the Ark to land, be forgiven for her crimes. Unfortunately, apparently the Council didn’t realize that the whole “we’re-sending-you-because-you’re-expendable” part put a bit of a damper on the situation.

Oh, and the video was wrong. And so were the maps. And upon further investigation, because she was just dying to explain to the Ark that – get this, they hadn’t exactly landed nearby any mountains, let alone a secret government bunker – Monty discovered that the communication was fried.

No, the door to the Exodus ship dropped open to reveal an icy tundra, miles and miles of snow-covered wasteland. The Delinquents were overjoyed to see real life snow for a measly ten minutes before the beginnings of frostbite set in and they returned to the Dropship to huddle in a pack. After all, half of them were wearing short sleeves. The Chancellor didn’t pack any parkas.

Raven, who was some sort of mechanical genius, struck a deal with the ex-guard Bellamy Blake to sneak onto the Dropship. Although she was able to rig up a heating system out of scrap pieces of metal and charred wires, the rocket fuel ran out after a handful of days and the makeshift base was “colder than that time Monty and I got high off our asses and were stuck in the air shaft for two days,” according to Jasper’s official measurements. Clarke couldn’t find any fault in his logic.

Clarke determined that their best chances of survival were in the pine forest behind the ship. So, after minimal argument from Bellamy, a decision was made: they would strip the Dropship of all potentially useful materials and head to the trees. Clarke explained a million times that no aid was coming, but a few refused to leave the ship behind, hopelessly obsessed with awaiting rescue from the Ark. They were left behind. Clarke returned some days later to find their frozen corpses huddled in a corner, skin sucked of all color and crusted in ice.

The remaining 82 trekked across the frosty plain, fighting the bitter cold by clustering in packs like gigantic, colorful, extremely pathetic penguins in their bright clothes, which were probably more suited to a nice post-apocalyptic beach than the whipping wind. They reached shelter under the dark branches, suddenly hushed in the wind’s absence. By pure luck, Bellamy had found a cave nearby, and by purer luck, it was unoccupied. Although the teenagers had begun to learn the ways of the land – how to make a fire, the best way to catch a snow hare, which berries to eat – their population dwindled in response to hunger, cold, and depression until only thirty some remained.

Perhaps if Clarke wasn’t worried about finding her next meal, she would have thought of her mother back up on the Ark. Perhaps if the Delinquents weren’t only concerned with staying warm enough to survive just one more night, they wouldn’t have pounded the cold metal wristbands off their arms with stones, leaving them outside the cave to eventually blend into the snowy landscape.

But by then, the Delinquents had become accustomed to the death hanging in the air and had other things to worry about. Take, for example, a few miles from camp, where an oversized wolf, fangs glinting with saliva, padded in light circles around a trembling Clarke.

As stood Clarke frozen, frantic clouds of air exiting her horrified lips, she couldn’t help but admire the fur of the animal before her. Yeah, she probably could be doing something more productive, like running or trying (and likely failing) to climb a nearby tree, but the artist in her was having a moment.

Unlike the pictures she had seen on the Ark, its pelt was a pure white, melting into the snow covering every inch of the damn place, which is likely why she hadn’t spotted the predator earlier. It looked like it was walking with a slight limp in one of its hind legs, and sure enough, Clarke could spot a twisted paw and some dried blood matting its fur.

It blinked its yellow eyes and snarled, revealing fangs and a puff of fog from its hot breath, apparently unconcerned with her artistic musings. She bent down very slowly, maintaining eye contact with the beast, as her fingers closed around a heavy stone at her feet. The wolf took a step closer and bunched its hindquarters as if about to spring.

“Ahhhh! Come here, you mangy bastard!” came a wail from behind the wolf, causing it to spin around just in time to witness Raven leaping from a tree, crudely made knife in hand.

Clarke took the opportunity to jump on the wolf’s back, clubbing it in the head with the rock. However, it seemed this wolf was just a _bit_ bigger than the rabbits they were used to dealing with, as it merely shook its head and howled angrily. As it began to shake and jump around, Clarke held on to its fur, (which was just as nice up close, by the way) for her dear life as Bellamy and Octavia trailed in from the side, looking puzzled after hearing the screams and probably just expecting to see Monty and Jasper engaged in a tickle fight again.

Their confusion didn’t hold them for long. Quickly realizing the danger, the Blakes fanned out around the beast and joined Raven in taking swipes at the wolf when its back was turned. Octavia had a pretty mean knife on her, too, and Bellamy- well, Bellamy was whacking it with a stick.

Evidently they realized it was favoring its left side, because Octavia sunk her knife into its injured paw. It stumbled, pausing in its hectic dance to throw off its passenger. Clarke managed to secure one arm around its neck, and with her legs dangling off its side, she repeatedly smashed the back of its skull with the rock. Admittedly, jumping on the back of a canine twice her size probably wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had, but hey, hindsight is 20/20.

The wolf, panting heavily now and more than a little dizzy from the rock, or spinning in circles, or a combination of the two, seemed tired of fending off all three of its ambushers at once. It bunched its hindquarters and leaped at Raven, pinning her down into the snow with its greater body weight and snapping its jaws in anger.

Clarke, in a panic but somehow still on the wolf’s back, ditched the rock and blindly began her own assault on the wolf’s face. After a few seconds of messy fumbling, she jabbed her thumbs into the wolf’s eyes and it let out a high-pitched whimper that cut through the relative silence, before it slumped and fell still.

Clarke stood up hesitantly, backing away from the collapsed animal quickly. Bellamy puffed up his chest and poked it lightly with the stick. Seemingly satisfied, he grunted.

“Well shit, guys, you gonna help me up or what?” came Raven’s muffled but nonetheless irritated voice from beneath the mountain of fur.

Bellamy quickly dropped his stick and rolled the wolf off Raven, offering her a hand up.

“Holy ravioli,” Raven breathed, completely ignoring his hand. She brushed some snow off her shoulder. “That actually just happened.”

Octavia started to snicker, “Yeah, that totally did. We owned that mutt.”

“Seriously, O?” asked Bellamy.

“Seriously,” Octavia replied, nodding. “Clarke, are you a complete badass or just really stupid?”

“Badass,” Raven chimed in, just as Bellamy rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Stupid.”

Octavia tapped her chin for a second, looking thoughtful, until she announced, “Judge rules badass.” She gave Clarke a hard clap on the shoulder.

Clarke cracked a smile, wild adrenaline finally calming and beating heart crawling back into her chest.

“Damn, let’s take this thing back to camp!” Raven hollered. “Jas is gonna piss himself when he sees it.” She moved forward to lift the wolf, pausing when Clarke sucked in a sharp breath.

Octavia, also noticing, lurched forward to grab Raven’s arm. “Hey, Raven, are you aware that your leg is currently gushing blood?”

“What?” Raven looked down, for the first time seeing the bright crimson liquid seeping through her pants and staining them red. “Oh. I am now aware, thank you.”

Clarke went into what the others would soon dub ‘doctor mode,’ grabbing a handful of snow and kneeling at Raven’s feet to press it into the wound. “Does it hurt?”

Raven winced. “Not right now. But that snow is fucking cold.”

Clarke chuckled. “Alright. If you think you’ll survive, I can wrap it up at camp for you. Do you need help to walk?”

Raven shook her head. “No, I think I’m okay.”

Clarke had half a mind to argue, but knowing Raven’s stubbornness… “Okay. We’ll carry the wolf back, but Raven, if you so much as stumble-”

Raven flashed her a smile. “You got it, Doc.” She started walking off towards camp.

“Um, Raven?” Bellamy cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Yes?”

“Camp’s the other way.”

Raven said nothing, turning sharply on her heel to march in the opposite direction as she flipped Bellamy the bird over her shoulder.

 

\-----

 

_Three weeks later:_

In the comfort of the cave they had made their new home, Clarke sat around the fire with a few others, bundled in the warm white fur of the wolf she had killed a few weeks prior. While she had wanted to share the pelt with the others, they had insisted that it would be much warmer in one piece. And while it looked good on the wolf, it looked even better on her.

Bellamy sat across her in the fire, arm hung loosely around his sister. Clarke was glad that Bellamy and Octavia were able to get along now, even if Bellamy was still a bit overprotective sometimes.

The entirety of the surviving Delinquents had grown closer over the past few weeks, actually learning to work together. They had finally started to get comfortable with their environment and learn what exactly was necessary to survive, and it showed, too. Now most of them had supplemented their clothing from the Ark with furs from the animals and thicker fabrics from the Dropship. While the sleeping bags from the Ark were warm, they weren’t enough to prevent the teenagers from freezing - they had learned that the hard way after Jasper lost a toe to frostbite. Fortunately, the mishap bolstered his ego more than anything, but he now fancied himself akin to a wartime survivor. He was currently trying to show off his biceps to a group of uninterested girls on the opposite side of the room, while Monty was stuck in what looked to be a permanent facepalm.

There was a stockpile of fallen branches that they used as firewood pushed against the far side of the cave wall, next to a collection of simple knives and spears they had fashioned from spare pieces of metal from the Dropship. The fire stayed close to the entrance. They might not all have excelled during Earth Skills class, but they knew that inhaling smoke probably wasn’t the best idea. The fire’s dim, flickering light illuminated the mix of brightly colored blankets and monochromatic furs strewn across the ground as various members lounged, taking a break from the various tasks they had been assigned as night began to fall. The Delinquents had devised a system to fortify their camp against the cold and were starting to become much more adept at hunting. As overjoyed as Raven was to catch the group’s first dinner, the scrawny hare didn’t do much to satisfy their appetites. When they weren’t busy hunting, the teenagers were engaged in the never ending project of digging shallow graves in the hard ground to dump the bodies of their fallen comrades.

Clarke was slumped with her back against the wall, drinking soup from a crude bowl when she heard heavy footsteps outside. She squinted her eyes to peer over the smoke towards the entrance behind her friends’ heads.

Octavia must have heard the motion outside from where she was dozing on the opposite side of the fire. She snorted. “That better be the hunting party. I’m starving and this soup is disgusting. No offense, Clarke, but you have no future as a chef.”

When Clarke didn’t respond, Octavia lazily opened her eyes to deliver another retort. But when her mouth dropped open, only a small choking sound came out. Throughout the cave, heads slowly swiveled to take in the scene at the cave’s entrance. The chattering in the room cut off abruptly.

Clarke found herself inexplicably on her feet, yet unable to move. She felt the blood drain out of her face and her pulse pick up. Staring towards the entrance of the cave, she could clearly see that the hunting party had _not_ returned.

Instead, in their place, were two rough-looking men dressed in thick furs and leathers. One had a broad frame and tangled blond hair hanging to his shoulders. The other was bald with the lower half of his face half hidden by a helmet. They carried nasty swords and Clarke could see the tips of knives sticking out from belts in their armor- because that was the word for it really, armor: plates of metal interwoven into the fabric and adorned with trinkets and bone. But that wasn’t the most alarming. They had stark, symmetrical scars standing out on their faces, clearly branded into the skin harshly, intentionally.

And Clarke couldn’t even comment that oh, there were people here and the Delinquents weren’t the last humans on Earth and this was fantastic news, because she was seized with panic and fear at the brutish, barbaric nature of the last sample of humanity that Earth had to offer.

After surveying the room, one of the men called out something in an unknown language. A third emerged into the entrance of the cave, pushing through the other two men to stand in the front. He was dressed in the same armor, but he had a tattered white cape hanging from his shoulders. The top half of his shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the streaks of dirt and white paint on his face, half hidden by his beard. His cold, blue eyes scanned the room, until one of the men behind him stepped forward suddenly, pointing to Clarke.

Fixing his frigid stare on her, he barked out something in that same unknown language, nodding to his comrade, then faced her again. When she didn’t respond, he looked at her expectantly.

“Uh, sorry, I don’t understand,” Clarke said.

He blinked once, slowly, and turned his head to shoot the man over his shoulder a suspicious glance. “I said, who are you?” he asked again in a heavy accent. His words were clipped, his voice gruff.

“I’m Clarke,” she responded confidently. The confidence was fake. She just hoped it didn’t show. The man just continued to stare. “...Griffin? Clarke Griffin,” she continued, trailing off.

The man gave the warrior to his left another look. Clarke could practically feel the irritation coursing off him in waves. “What is your clan?” he spit out.

Clarke was quickly getting a bad feeling about this. Out. They needed out. “Clan? We’re not from a clan. Look, if this forest is your territory or something, we can move. We’re not trying to steal it or anything. Just show us where it ends and we’ll be on our way.”

The man in the middle let out a laugh. After a minute of consideration, apparently he realized that she was serious. He sneered. “Kill them all.”

Clarke took a half step backwards as the bald man pulled a sword from a sheath on his back, the scraping metal painfully loud in the tense air. The Delinquents collectively shuffled in alarm. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke could see Bellamy sitting extremely stiffly, one hand slowly crawling behind him and tangling in the blankets.

The blond warrior reached out a hand, stopping him, and turned towards the one who seemed to be in charge. “My prince, is that wise? Shouldn’t we take them to the Queen? They might be Trikru spies.”

The bald man with the sword glared at the other. “Branwoda! Don’t speak Gonasleng, they’ll understand you.”

The blond one hissed back, “If they’re Trikru – _if_ – then they’d speak Trigedasleng, probably better than Gonasleng. Bronwoda.”

Clarke didn’t really know what was happening, but she was pretty sure the bald one was an idiot. Bellamy’s eyes were darting rapidly between the men. She shot him a questioning look.

She interrupted their spat, hands offered up in a gesture of peace. “Listen, okay. I don’t know what Tree Crew is, but we’re from the Ark. It’s a space station from the Sky, and we didn’t mean to land here in your territory, so we’ll leave. No trouble.”

“What is space station?” asked the blond one.

“It’s a, um… Raven, a little help here?” Clarke started.

Raven stood up quickly. The man with the sword stepped forward as if to intercept her. Raven froze, spreading out her hands at an exaggeratedly slow pace, but probably negating any calming motions by waving them from side to side frantically. “Nope, not about to die today. Sorry, sorry.”

The man stepped back, but didn’t relax his sword. Raven took that as her cue. “The Ark is a large, sustainable spacecraft base in orbit around the planet with long-term life support systems, artificial gravity, and-”

She stopped, seeing their blank expressions, and sighed. “Not technical enthusiasts? Damn, okay. It was worth a shot. It’s like a giant metal boat. In the sky. With a lot of people.”

The three men erupted into the unknown language again, quips about speaking in English apparently forgotten. Then, Clarke noticed Bellamy pulling a dusty pistol from underneath the sleeping bag he was currently sitting in.

“Bell,” she hissed, “What the hell are you doing?”

Unfortunately, that caught the attention of the three men. The sword man turned, catching sight of the gun, and dove forward to tackle Bellamy. As if in slow motion, Clarke saw Bellamy’s sweaty hand grip the gun, the kick of the recoil as the bullet left the barrel, and the splash of blood as the shot found its mark in the center of the man’s forehead. He dropped to the ground in an unceremonial heap.

The blond man, apparently not so peaceful anymore, appeared to come to a decision. He drew his own pair of knives and started towards Bellamy just as a large group of more Grounders, (as Clarke had taken to calling them in her head) burst into the cave, evidently alerted by the loud shot. By that time, the warrior had made his was across the room and disarmed Bellamy’s weak, shaky stance. He pressed a knife to his neck, growling, and Clarke watched as a thin line of red appeared on Bellamy’s skin underneath the blade.

The prince stood up to his full height, eyes narrowed. “Stop. Stand down.” The blond warrior let Bellamy drop to the floor but kicked the gun away.

“Well then, Sky People,” continued their grisly leader. “I have come to a decision. You will be meeting the Queen, after all.”

After a few barked orders, the Delinquents were hustled up, past the cooling body of the dead Grounder, and forced out of the cave, leaving everything behind but the clothes on their backs. Clarke frowned as, with an unimpressed snort, one of the men kicked over a pitiful barrier the Delinquents had spent a month building around the perimeter. Upon emerging into the snow, they found a cluster of what Clarke recognized as horses, ranging every color from powdery grey to chestnut brown, saddled and guarded by two more of the men.

Unfortunately, the horses weren’t for the Delinquents. No, they were in for a long walk through the cold, doomed to blisters and soaked feet and more than a few stumbles, face first, into the snow. After a few more orders from the prince, the Delinquents’ hands were tied and the Grounders began herding them on their long trek to the Queen.

 

\-----

 

Clarke found herself and the rest of the Delinquents in front of the Queen, awaiting her fate. The whole situation was a bit ridiculous, waiting on a literal queen of ice in a magic land with real animals and real plants. Okay, maybe not magic, but that’s what it felt like. She had an ice castle, for the love of god. It was as if Voldemort had taken over the land, married an abominable snow chick, and left the kingdom to his darling daughter Nia.

But Nia wasn’t so darling. The Ice Queen sat on a throne of bones, amongst which Clarke swore she could see a human finger. She was old and wrinkly, but a crackling, _evil_ light burned in those arctic eyes. Everything was white: her pale skin, the furs hanging off her thin but muscular frame, her crooked teeth when she grinned. Clarke had a sneaking suspicion that in this case, white didn’t signify holiness.

After a few hours of relaying the story, with a few false starts and exasperated sighs, the Azgeda ruler finally accepted their story: although she hadn’t quite grasped the whole flying-hunk-of-metal story, she understood that they were wandering nomads from “up north, over the mountains,” not Trikru spies. (And, as Clarke had learned, that’s Trikru, not Tree Crew. Although from what she had heard of them, they might as well be called the latter.)

Unfortunately, the Queen’s belief came at a price. After hearing the story of what had occurred in the cave, Nia had decided that Bellamy, for shooting her warrior, was the lucky winner: he was to be taken down to the dungeon for “questioning.” Clarke heard his screams on a loop in her head for the two days until he finally returned, barely breathing. And she still dreamed of those screams for months afterwards. Although the Prince, who Clarke learned was named Roan, claimed that Bellamy should be grateful to have been spared his life, Clarke didn’t quite agree as she spent hours cleaning the wounds oozing pus and rampant with infection on her friend’s back.

Apparently, whatever Bellamy told Nia was enough to dismiss her worries of an invasion and convince her that her prisoners were not spies. At least, that’s what Clarke hoped as they were all released from their rusting chains down in the damp dungeon and brought above ground, again pushed onto their knees before Nia’s throne.

The Queen slumped slightly in the throne, looking as if she had a great many things to deal with besides the Delinquents. Her cool, calculating eyes took in their beaten and hungry forms but she did not betray anything through her neutral expression.

“Ah, children of the sky,” she started. Nia had taken to calling them children of the sky after their explanation as to how they had arrived. Even though she didn’t believe it, apparently it was amusing to her. Great.

“You have proven yourselves to be most resilient,” she continued. “It greatly interests me. For those with no training, it is no small feat to survive for so long outside city walls in Azgeda.”

She had a knife in her hand, and was lightly scraping it against a long bone making up the arm of her throne. “Unfortunately, that poses a problem for me. Invaders hunting on Azgeda land and stealing our prey is a crime punishable by death.”

She paused, and turned towards Bellamy, who had recovered fairly well since he was tortured. “As is killing a guard,” she added snidely. Clarke frowned, making up her mind to speak up, scary ice bitch be damned.

Nia wasn’t done. “It seems you have earned many deaths, children of the sky. Luckily, Bellamy has taken upon himself punishment enough for the death of my guard, and my warriors have just returned with word that justice has been dealt for your group hunting on my land.”

At the Delinquents’ blank looks, she sighed. “Your hunters. Those of you who were not captured when we first stormed your little base. They have all been apprehended and killed.”

Clarke choked, remembering the five who had been hunting when Roan arrived. She thought they had escaped. The edges of her vision were tinged with a red rage, but a long look from Bellamy at her side forced her to take a deep breath and push down the anger.

“So, it seems your crimes have all been atoned for. I think many of you could prove to be quite useful to me, especially with training. I give you a choice.”

She stood up from her throne and swept her hand across the room. “Pledge your allegiance to me, and train to become a warrior in my army. Or you may hang in the morning. I will give you an hour to reach your decision. Choose wisely, sky children.”

 

\-----

 

The hour was up. Clarke had discussed it with the others. Despite Octavia’s spitting ferocity and Raven’s initially adamant refusal to help, most had decided to pledge their allegiance to Nia. In hushed tones, Clarke had agreed: it wasn’t perfect, hell, it was fucking terrible, but it was better than death. Clarke and Bellamy had done their best to convince the Delinquents to choose to live now and fight Nia another day, but some were tired. They had given up. They had no will to continue. The Delinquents lost another two the next morning, their bodies limp as they hung from poles outside the front gate, slowly growing icicles.

The other twenty-three had been to see Nia individually. Clarke was left in the dungeon alone. All Roan had told them was that they now needed to prove themselves. They would each be given a task, and had twenty-four hours to complete it to join the ranks of the Azgeda army. Fail, and big surprise, death.

The same blond warrior from the cave, Geran, entered the dungeon and gestured for Clarke to stand. He guided her back up the long row of stone steps, closing and slamming the doors of the dungeon behind him. He brought her back to the throne room, which Clarke was starting to become eerily familiar with, and stepped aside to allow her to enter.

Before she could move forward, he grabbed her arm and murmured, “Do not show weakness.” Then he stepped back, his face becoming stone, and Clarke almost believed that she imagined it in some delusion caused by the past month’s insanity finally catching up to her.

The throne room was as she remembered it. Large pillars supporting the tall, arched ceiling. Guards with large spears standing on the steps before Nia’s throne. A large banner hanging behind her, showing a palm with a spiral in the middle. Roan was standing behind her.

“What is your name, child?” asked Nia as Clarke stepped inside.

Clarke held her head high, refusing to be cowed by the other woman’s large presence. “Clarke.”

From behind the queen, Roan commented, “It would do you well to bow.”

“No worries, Roan. She will soon learn her place,” Nia said, flitting her hand up.

Roan stalked down the steps until he was standing just before Clarke. He leaned in and ran his hand along the soft white fur adorning her shoulders. Clarke stiffened and held her breath, daring him to try something so she could punch him in his ugly little nose.

“You know,” he said, stepping back, “That fur belonged to my wolf, Faol. That’s how you drew my attention the day we met. I recognized the skin of my companion.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shot up, astonished. “You- what? You have a pet? You know what, okay, sure. I’m sorry. It was self-defense.”

Roan chuckled. “Well yes, I imagine so. He always had a taste for weaklings.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes angrily and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Nia before she could begin. “Child of the sky. It is for that reason we have given you the most… special test. Seeing as no ordinary, untrained individual could single-handedly kill one of Azgeda’s famed wolves, we hope you are up to the task.”

Clarke was still grinding her jaw, but nodded for the woman to continue. The sooner this was over, the better. She hoped that they’d be shipped off to some distant corner of the icy empire where she didn’t have to see the Queen’s hideous face.

“There is an old captain of the army, recently injured in battle. He will not recover and is a waste of our materials. Kill him.”

Clarke didn’t say anything, waiting for the punchline. It didn’t come. “Are you serious? You want me to kill someone? A trained captain? Why would I do that? Why do you think I’d even be able to do that?”

“Well, we don’t,” said Roan, “But we thought we’d at least give you a chance to live, so there’s your test. Twenty-four hours begins at dusk.”

“This is absolutely insane. I won’t kill anyone.”

Nia smiled, “It’s kill or be killed, child. Leave. You’re starting to bore me. Geran will show you the target and lend you any weapons you may need. He will also be monitoring your progress, so don’t try anything stupid. I imagine that might be difficult for you, but try your best.”

Clarke turned on her heel and exited, fuming. She met Geran at the door. “Are they serious?” she demanded.

He nodded only nodded, gesturing for her to follow him again. She huffed indignantly but followed him to a hut outside the palace. When they entered, it was filled with racks of swords and spears, bows and arrows, as well as a multitude of weapons Clarke didn’t recognize.

Clarke glared at the tall man, daring him to speak. She wanted an explanation.

A minute of silence passed before Geran stood back, eyeing her. “You look like a knife girl.”

“I’m not going through with this. I don’t care what they’ll do,” Clarke bit back immediately.

Geran crossed his arms. “If you don’t, they’ll kill you. And the Delinquents will be left without a leader under the misguided training of a first. They will turn cruel, forget their families, and betray each other. As is the Azgeda way.”

“Okay, great, so I get to choose between death now, or losing my soul later.”

Geran shook his head. “You will not be swayed, I can tell. You are strong. Your friends need your guidance if you are to survive.”

“Right, sorry, but who even are you?”

“Ai laik Geran. My village was overrun by Azgeda in my childhood and I was taken to join the army. To become a warrior, Nia commanded me to kill my brother. The rulers of this nation thrive off hate and traitors,” he said, very matter-of-fact.

Clarke suddenly lost most of her steam. “Oh. Did you? Kill your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why do you listen to her? If she’s that evil, there must be hundreds of you here that don’t like her. Why don’t you rebel?”

Geran looked behind him to the entrance of the hut. “Consider this your first lesson. Do not speak ill of Nia or Azgeda. There are stark loyalists within the army that would report you in an instant, and desperate warriors that would trade you in for even a chance at a promotion. This is the curse of Nia, and the reason there has never been a successful rebellion. You cannot trust your comrades. Many have tried, and it has always ended in great bloodshed.”

“Doomed for failure, got it,” Clarke said dryly.

“Do not be mistaken, Clarke, because this is also your gift and why you must go through with the test. You have faith in your friends, and they in you. You are an outsider, and you have an opportunity.”

“What, do you want me to foment a rebellion or something? Yeah, we may all be from the same place, but there are only twenty of us. Kids. Untrained.”

“No,” Geran said. “I want you to bide your time, train and become stronger than any other warrior. Gain her trust, but do not lose your values. And when the time is right, strike her from behind.”

“But-” Clarke started.

As two other warriors entered, Geran interrupted. “Take this knife. Go for the throat. Do not let him see it coming.”

Clarke nodded, taking the knife. It was lighter than she’d expected. The grip was worn, but the blade was sharp. She could see her crooked reflection in the metal.

“The captain lives two streets from the palace. Come.”

 

\-----

 

The captain lived in a little stone hut at the end of an alley, with a tiny chimney spewing puffs of grey smoke overhead. Geran had pointed it out to her earlier before disappearing, muttering an excuse about checking on the guard rotation. Clarke wandered around the city to learn all she could about the clan but mostly to clear her head, then returned a couple hours after dark. From her place hidden in the bushes, she could see through the window into the room, where a middle aged man lay on a pile of furs in front of the fireplace. He was red-faced and feverish, no doubt the result of an infection that had seized his body after poor treatment of an injury. She was quickly learning that Azgeda was not renowned for its healers.

Clarke watched as the captain dragged himself out of bed, staggering into a wooden chair. While he was frail and slow, she could still see the muscles rippling under his skin and he was never far from a dagger. Even with surprise on her side, Clarke knew she could not kill the man.

A little boy ran into the room, tackling the captain with a hug. The man said something to make the little boy smile, and ruffled his hair. When the captain dissolved into a coughing fit, he waved the little boy off. He left with a frown.

Clarke sighed. Despite Nia’s warning, she didn’t see Geran anywhere. It was possible he had left her alone. She debated her predicament. She didn’t want to kill the captain. While it was probably true that he couldn’t recover from the infection, she didn’t want to rob the man of the last days he had with his son. Again, Clarke scanned the area for Geran. She stood cautiously, half expecting an alarm to start blaring. When nothing happened, she walked away.

That night, the Delinquents were given a cramped room near the seconds’ quarters. It was dark and dusty, but it was better than the dungeons. They all looked tired; nobody was chatty. Nobody shared the details of their test. Clarke could only assume that they were just as terrible as her own.

The next morning, Clarke awoke with a sense of dread. She had until dusk to complete her task. The previous day, while she was in the weapons hut she had seen some herbs she thought she recognized from her past life on the Ark as a doctor. Half an hour later, she found herself knocking on the captain’s door, herbs in hand.

The door opened a crack, revealing one brown eye. It belonged to the little boy.

He asked something unintelligible in the rough syllables that signified the Grounder language.

Clarke swallowed, attempting to use the little bit of the foreign tongue she had picked up over the past few days. “Ai laik Clarke. Nia sent me. The Queen?”

The boy’s face flashed with recognition at Nia’s name but he made no move to open the door. He said something else, and although Clarke couldn’t understand a word she got the general distrustful vibe pretty strongly.

She motioned to the herbs in her hand. “I’m a healer. I can help your dad. I’ll make him better.”

The boy opened the door hesitantly. Clarke looked over her shoulder one final time for Geran, and seeing nothing, she entered the house. The captain was lying on his bed again. When she approached, Clarke could see the sweat dripping down his forehead and feel the flushed heat radiating off his body.

“Captain?” she asked softly.

The captain opened one eye. He waved his son off, who Clarke hadn’t noticed hovering at the edges of her vision. Switching to English, he said, “I heard you talking with my boy. I don’t see any reason why I should trust you.” He lifted the corner of one of the blankets on his bed to reveal a knife clenched tightly in his fist. “How about you give me one reason to?”

Clarke gave him her brightest smile, pushing down her discomfort. She made a mental effort to force down her tense shoulders. “I don’t mean you any harm. I’m from a- a distant town. Nia asked me to help you.” She held up her herbs like it was a mandate from Nia herself, signed, sealed, delivered.

He grunted, seeming unimpressed, but lifted his shirt to reveal a large gash running across his abdomen. It was an angry scarlet, half scabbed over, and yellow pus seeped from one corner. She could see dirt mixed in with the bloody mess and clenched her jaw. Had they even cleaned it?

“Right, okay. I’ll mix something that you can put on your cut to slow the infection and close the wound. I’ll also make you a tonic to reduce your fever.”

He waved his hand weakly. “Fine, yes.”

Clarke crushed a few herbs in a bowl and offered the mixture to the captain. She kneeled by his head, helping tilt the bowl into his mouth. He swallowed it all, barely wincing at the bitter taste.

Clarke stood up and gestured towards the door. “Alright then, you should be feeling better soon.  I can come check on it tomorrow to see how it’s progressing.”

“Stop.”

Clarke froze, halfway to the door. Had she failed his test? Her heart was beating too fast. Could he hear it? Is that why he asked her to stop? She really didn’t feel like dying today. And to think she was worried about Geran. “Yes?”

“I thought you said you would make something to put on it.”

“I did? Oh, yes, I did. Right, sorry. I’ll do that now.”

She returned to the table. Suddenly, her hands were shaking badly. She dropped her bundle of herbs onto the ground, picked them up, and dropped them all again, swearing softly.

Evidently, Clarke’s odd behavior was too obvious to ignore. The captain pushed himself up into a sitting position and pulled out his knife. “What’s going on? Why are you really here? You- oh.”

He started to choke, white foam spreading from between his lips. He clawed at his throat, eyes bulging. He lifted one trembling hand and pointed it at Clarke. Then he collapsed to the ground and stopped breathing.

Clarke knelt beside the man after a moment, grabbing his limp wrist to check for a pulse. Nothing. She exited the house silently, pausing to leave a lingering glance towards the closed door the little boy had gone through. She faced forward again, almost walking straight into Geran, who was waiting for her outside.

“Poison. Impressive. How do you have knowledge of the herbs? Or were you actually trying to help him?”

“I am a healer. That much wasn't a lie,” Clarke said darkly. “Have you been there the entire time?”

“Yes. And last night. I thought I would have to kill you. I was disappointed, but you did not fail me. Nia will be most pleased,” he replied.

“Have any of the others finished their tests?” Clarke asked.

Geran nodded his head. “Yes, a few. They are resting in your cabin. I must report to Nia. She will see those who have completed their tasks tomorrow.”

“Has anyone- did anyone refuse to do their task?”

Geran pressed his lips together tightly. “Even if they claimed they would not do it, they have until dusk tonight. If they have not returned to the cabin by dusk, do not expect to see them again.”

“Great.”

He nodded his head and left. Clarke picked a random direction and started walking, hoping that she was going the right way. She needed to get her mind off of her task. Or talk about it? Who knew. But her friends had just gone through the same thing, so it was as good of a place to start as any.

Apparently her sense of direction was better than Raven’s, because she arrived to the cabin without issue. She paused just outside the door, kicking the dirty slush outside and studying the wooden door intently. How many of her friends would be inside, safe from Nia’s wrath? How many wouldn’t return?

Pushing on the worn door, she entered the cabin. Cots with thin blankets lined the walls and a few trinkets and old possessions were stuffed under pillows or under the covers. In one corner, a fire warmed the space. Bellamy, Raven, Monty, and Harper were seated at the wooden table nearby, talking in hushed tones. They looked up when Clarke entered.

“Clarke!” Raven exclaimed, standing up to give her a hug. She pulled her in close. “I’m glad you’re okay.” She offered Clarke her seat.

Sitting down, Clarke allowed a smile to break over her face for the first time that day. “You too. All of you guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Monty and Harper nodded, looking relieved. Bellamy just looked pained.

“Bell, you okay?” Clarke asked.

“We’ve got seven hours until dusk,” he answered, gazing up at the sun barely visible through a window.

Noting his sister’s absence, Clarke reached a hand across the table to hold his. “Don’t worry. Seven hours is a long time, and Octavia’s too stubborn to mess this up. If anyone can make it, she will.”

Raven nodded. “She’ll get here, Bell. I didn’t just build myself a damn igloo to never see her sorry face again.”

“Wait,” Clarke said. “You what?”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “Built an igloo. I know, you probably thought ol’ Reyes didn’t have it in her, but I’m good for more than just bombs. Seriously though, I’ve never seen a Grounder look so surprised. I think he called me a witch. They’ve obviously never opened a copy of _Architecture for Dummies_.”

“You built an igloo? That was your test.” Clarke said again, shocked.

“Yeah? What’s the big deal? I guess they want us to learn warrior skills, or something. Do you think I’m destined to be some master builder? Base-constructor extraordinaire?” Raven laughed at her own joke.

Monty piped up. “That would make sense. In a twisted way. They had me catch a horse they set loose. I chased that thing for hours until I finally lost it and gave up. Then it came crashing through the bushes, and I swear to god, you’ve never seen a quarterback with a better tackle.”

“I think you mean defensive tackle, Mont. Or literally any other position. The quarterbacks are the ones throwing the ball,” Bellamy chuckled.

“Whatever.” Monty said. “I totally nailed that thing.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight here.” Clarke said. They all turned to her. “You all were playing in the snow and chasing ponies, while I was-”

“Are you okay, Clarke?” asked Harper. “What did they want you to do?”

“I- They wanted me to kill someone.”

“What?” They all said, in chorus.

Raven laughed. “Good one, Clarke.”

“I’m serious, Raven,” said the blonde.

Raven shook her head. “No you’re not. I can see it in your eyes. Here, look at me…” She crawled onto the table and seized Clarke’s chin roughly to stare into her eyes. She blinked. “Oh shit. Oh shit, guys, she’s telling the truth.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, turning to look at her worriedly. “Did you?”

“Yeah. I did. Wow, I guess Roan really wasn’t kidding when he said that he’d saved the special job for me.” Clarke laughed bitterly, not wanting her friend’s pity.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Clarke admitted. “But I’ll get over it. The guy only had a couple days left, max.”

“You want to talk about it?” Raven asked.

“Not really,” she repeated.

“We don’t have to. It’s okay. We’re probably all going to have to do stuff we’re not comfortable with at some point out here. Kill or be killed, right?” said Bellamy.

“Plus,” Raven reasoned, sidling up to Clarke and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “We’re pretty much family now. And you couldn’t get rid of us even if you tried.”

The others nodded their agreement and piled onto her for a hug. A couple seconds later, the door burst open and in walked Octavia with Finn, Miller, Jasper, and a few others. Bellamy sighed in relief.

“Hey, bitches,” said Octavia. “We’re back. Who wants to party like a Grounder?”

When the sun rose the next morning, the Delinquents lost five to the tasks. Until then, the remaining nineteen did party like Grounders, and although they claimed it was to honor the lost, it was mostly to forget the pain. The next day, they would become seconds. The next day, they would start on their toilsome journey towards becoming warriors. It would be the first of many long, taxing days and dark, sleepless nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed! Please leave me a (preferably nice) comment with any feedback, suggestions, randomness, etc!
> 
>  **Next time:**  
>  A couple years later, Clarke is one of Nia's generals and is traveling to Polis to meet with the Commander! Stubborn head-butting ensues!


	2. We Are Divided

**Five years later:**

General Clarke kom Azgeda shifted in her saddle as her party approached Polis’ city border. It was the only sign of her discomfort, her unease in the broad, leafy forest, so different from the open expanse of snow the Delinquents had made their home. Under the overbearing boughs, she felt closed in, like her senses were dulled by the limited view of her surroundings.

She knew, intuitively, that Trikru warriors were shadowing her force from the trees as she caught slight glimpses of the sun on reflective armor overhead, only to melt away into the leaves if she stared too closely at the branches above. But she also knew that the archer behind her was tracking the movements over her head, fingertips hovering just an inch from the bow at her side. So, Clarke resolved herself to wait, unconcerned with any motion in the canopy.

She did, however, concern herself with the Trikru scout waiting for them in the valley before the city entrance, a not-so-subtle reminder that the Commander would have eyes on the Azgeda party at all times, and didn’t care who knew it.

Clarke wasn’t Heda’s biggest fan. Despite any Coalition-based treaties or oaths to Azgeda’s royalty, Clarke’s loyalty always laid first and foremost with the rest of the Delinquents, and at a close second, with the people of Azgeda. Yes, Clarke felt an intense, burning tie to Azgeda’s common people after she left the capital as a new second so many years ago and began to spend more of her time in outposts along the border, hunting parties deep in the woods, villages along the shore of the wide river cutting through the land’s entirety.

Because once outside Toron’s glimmering walls, the impressive castle and bustling city were replaced by rubble, and it became clear that Nia’s aid didn’t extend to her people’s villages. Her ambition for power turned the land outside into a field of carnage. Anger and strife could always be found under the fresh coat of pearly-white snow.

Before submitting to the Coalition, Azgeda faced years of war with the other eleven clans who pillaged and burned their way to the Queen’s doorstep. The villages bore the brunt of the damage, clearly, but Nia hadn’t bothered to clean up the mess after she finally joined the Coalition. The villagers were left to build the basis of their new lives on the charred remains of their previous homes.

And maybe that was why Clarke didn’t like the Commander. While it was Nia’s responsibility to rebuild, she wasn’t the one who had wreaked havoc in the first place. Nia’s ego was certainly a contributing factor, but a different mouth had uttered the command. Burn.

Clarke knew the other clans viewed Azgeda as indiscriminately cruel, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Was the army large and violent? Yes. Was the history of Nia’s reign bloody? Yes. Did the innocent villagers deserve to pay for that? No.

Those living in the villages were hungry, cold, poor, mistreated. They were dreadfully afraid of the roaring pale army and the destruction left in their wake.

Maybe it was a twisted illusion left by years of torment on the ground, but the Delinquents fancied themselves to be the same as this side of Azgeda. One people abandoned by their parents to what should have been slow, painful death by radiation; one people abandoned by their Queen to murder and rape and bloodshed.

Clarke now stood as their protector. It was the small things at first, offering to help finish building a house when she was passing through, or sharing her patrol’s extra catches from hunting. But Clarke was quickly blown into a war hero, winning not only battles but the people’s favor, and eventually was boosted to the status of one of the three coveted generals in Nia’s army alongside Roan and Ontari. Nia might not like her, but she couldn’t argue with Clarke’s results.

Heda, on the other hand, had little to no idea of the workings in Azgeda territory. She had spies, sure – Clarke had caught her fair share – but she didn’t understand that while Nia was fighting a war for expansion, Clarke’s mission had always been to serve and defend the people. Of course, it probably didn’t help that Clarke was bound to follow Nia’s orders, playing the part of Nia’s faithful servant.

As such, when Clarke was ordered to push into Trikru land last month, she complied, leading a small scouting party just barely across the border. Despite her caution, they were ambushed by a group of Trikru, falling from the trees onto her warriors’ backs, and the situation erupted into a confusing skirmish. Warriors were quickly lost in the familiar clash of metal upon metal, the taste of blood, the sting of sweat. When Clarke was finally able to cut through the madness and order her team’s retreat, the damage had been done. Finn stood, pale and trembling, over the dead body of a Trikru male twice his size.

“It- it wasn’t my fault,” he had said, wide-eyed. “I know you said before not to engage, but he didn’t- he wouldn’t let up. He just kept coming, Clarke, you have to believe me…”

It didn’t matter. From her comfortable throne in Polis, Heda ordered his death, and Finn was executed the next day. Raven cried for the next three.

So yeah, Clarke wasn’t Heda’s biggest fan.

Clarke had been summoned to Polis to answer for Azgeda’s actions. Of course, Nia was too “busy” to attend, so she gave Clarke the great honor of standing in her place. That barely disguised the fact that she didn’t send Roan as heir, because everyone had an inkling that this meeting might quickly descend into chaos. And well, it was no secret among Nia’s ring of advisors that the Queen held a deep hatred for the blonde general.

Clarke’s mind snapped back to the present as the scout guided them through the city. As the addressed the group, his eyes were inevitably dragged back to Clarke’s armor again and again. She didn’t blame the guy. She knew she cut an imposing figure. After all these years, she still had the white wolf fur, just to spite Roan. It draped asymmetrically around her neck and shoulders, sewn into the collar of her white coat, padding the silver pauldron on her left shoulder that marked her rank as a general.

Raven once told her that her coat looked like something a pirate captain would wear. It was long, falling to her mid-thigh, lined with pockets on the inside in which she kept the various tools of her trade. She wore it open, secured to her body by the diagonal belt crossing her body, which fastened the pauldron to her shoulder. It was white in its entirety; Clarke used it to blend in with the deep snow of her home.

Nia was overjoyed by Clarke’s execution of her task. The reality was, she never expected Clarke to kill the captain in the first place, much less with lying and poison. She immediately demanded that Clarke train as an assassin.

As such, Clarke wore thick, textured leather under her coat instead of plates of armor that would hinder her movement. Her thighs and waist were crisscrossed with sheathes, displaying only a fraction of the blades hidden up her sleeves or shoved into her boots. The black fabric stood in stark contrast with her white coat, but she knew from experience that shedding her upper layer turned her practically invisible at night.

Clarke ran her fingers through her horse’s mane. He was light grey, like the morning fog, with specks of white on his hindquarters. She pointedly ignored the whispers and stares her warriors attracted as they trod through Polis. She hadn’t been to the capital before, but Geran, riding on her left flank, had made the journey before when he served in Nia’s personal guard. The blond warrior acted as Clarke’s bodyguard now, and she had grown to trust him immensely after many years of working in tandem.

When the scout finally led them past the market sector and to a set of gates marking the entrance to the courtyard beneath the tall tower looming overhead, Clarke raised a fist, half-extending her pointer and middle fingers in a claw. Subtlety, her warriors shifted closer together. They didn’t have to ask her to clarify the message: Stay alert. Trust no one.

They entered the courtyard.

\-----

Lexa twirled her knife in between her fingers, attention focused on the set of heavy oak doors bearing access to her throne room. A panting warrior had arrived a few minutes ago to inform her of Azgeda’s arrival. It seemed that Nia had sent a general in her stead, the so-called phantom she had heard whisperings about from the border shared with Azgeda.

A silence had settled over the room, her advisors waiting silently before her throne. Gustus had his arms crossed. Anya didn’t appear to have a care in the world. Lexa could see Indra’s jaw clenching.

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Speak, Indra.”

The older warrior whipped around as if she had been waiting for the cue. Through clenched teeth, she spit out, “Azgeda insults you by sending some general instead of the royal family. This disrespect cannot stand.”

“General Clarke rules the land by our border. She was closest when we sent the summons.”

“Yet Queen Nia makes no moves to come, herself.”

“I agree. It is not an excuse,” Lexa said, “But we would get nowhere with Nia. I do not know this general, but she may be more willing to compromise.”

“Heda-” Indra started, but was cut off when the doors banged open.

Lexa shot the guards an icy glare, but it appeared that they were not the ones who had thrown the doors open. They shrunk against the wall, cringing under her stare. She waved her hand, and they hurriedly closed the doors, resuming their posts outside and likely breathing sighs of relief that they missed Heda’s wrath.

Lexa slowly turned her attention to the woman in front of her. Her blonde hair was braided back at the top of her head, practically glowing in the early morning sun. Lexa’s eyes traced the twin scars outlining her cheekbones, trailing down across her neck and halting a few inches above her collarbone. Only when Lexa’s stare met her own harsh blue one did the woman pause just one moment too long before dropping down on one knee and dipping her head. The few warriors she had brought with her into the throne room mimed her motions.

“Rise,” Lexa said.

And the general stood, again meeting her eyes and holding them with a firm gaze. “General Clarke kom Azgeda,” she said, and flashed a smile. “Queen Nia sends her regards.”

Lexa ignored the general’s blatant acknowledgement of her queen’s disregard. “You just arrived in Polis?”

The general nodded. “My company is settling into their quarters. Your scout insisted we greet you immediately.”

From beside her, a dark-haired girl added, “Immediately means no shower, if you weren’t aware, _your majesty_ , so our _deepest_ apologies if we stink up your royal palace.”

The general shot the girl a withering glare, but Lexa could see the hint of a smile on the corners of her lips before she forced it down. The captain with curly hair behind the two coughed, hiding his smile behind a fist.

Lexa exchanged a look with Anya, who was watching the outspoken brunette closely. The stories she had heard of General Clarke likened her to a demon, brutal and swift and unmatched. The woman before her and her brazen party appeared all too relaxed for the situation, one they both knew could all too easily spark a war. Although, she supposed, Azgeda was probably more comfortable with war than anything else.

Lexa blinked once, face still devoid of all emotion. “I was aware of the definition of ‘immediately,’ but thank you for your concern. Anya will see you to your rooms. There has been a floor prepared for Azgeda – just you and your advisors. I will send a messenger in five hours’ time so that we may meet again and discuss the current border situation.”

Lexa paused, half expecting the general to jump in, like any other ambassador might have done upon reference to the ‘situation’, but the blonde remained silent, simply cocking an eyebrow.

“Dismissed,” Lexa said.

Anya cut through the Azgeda warriors and opened the door. Lexa watched her pause a moment just outside as she dealt a few harsh words to the men standing guard, before continuing forward without so much as a look behind her to see if Azgeda followed.

Clarke exited with the other few warriors, talking in hushed tones with the curly haired captain beside her. Lexa watched her walk away until the bulky guard moved to the end of the procession, his thick body blocking her view. The doors closed again, and Azgeda was gone.

\-----

Clarke sat on the edge of the bed, running her hand through the cream-colored furs and marveling at the silky texture. Bellamy, Raven, and Octavia had joined her in the room - it was the largest one, with a small sitting area in the center of the room, the bed pushed up against the wall behind a set of thin, wispy drapes, and a doorway in the corner leading into her bathing chambers.

Raven was currently sprawled out across the expanse of the entire couch, Octavia perched on the sofa arm, and Bellamy ignored the empty chair in favor of pacing across the floor.

Clarke watched him pace back and forth. The repetitive action would be calming if not for the worried set of his jaw and the wrinkles on his forehead. Raven started to snore gently, and Octavia whacked her in the thigh.

“What, what? I’m kidding guys, jeez.” Raven said. Clarke could tell she’d be rolling her eyes if they weren’t closed.

“What’ll be the Commander’s play?” Octavia asked, the middle ground between the two other personalities currently filling Clarke’s room. “Actually- no, what’s our play?”

Clarke sighed and loosened the clasp on the white wolf’s pelt hanging around her shoulders, shrugging it off. “Nia’s ordered me to see how far I can push the Commander, but ultimately listen to her demands.”

Raven sat up on her elbows, “What, so we basically mess around until she snaps and then we roll over? Seriously? I kinda expected more of a power play from Nia, honestly.”

Clarke shook her head. “No, this is very calculated. Nia wants to expand, take what she can before starting her war. She knows the Commander will go great lengths to keep the Coalition from breaking.”

“And what about you Clarke?” Bellamy asked. “You don’t want the war.”

“Nia’s still got spies,” Clarke replied. “I picked this group, but god, Nia’s spies are everywhere.”

“So, we’re still obeying Nia? Jesus Clarke, I know we’re biding our time and all of that, but isn’t this the perfect opportunity to break away? Heda would support us. She hates Nia,” Raven pushed.

“Heda doesn’t trust us,” Clarke retorted. “She’s not Nia, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t a monster. I don’t trust her, either.” She paused. “You know what she did to Finn, Ray.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Raven bit back, a flash of anger darting across her face.

“So?” asked Octavia. “What do you want us to do? Threatening? I can look threatening. You need me to start some rumors about a secret Azgeda weapon or something? Maybe we’ve got a secret monster that we’re just waiting to unleash on those poor Trikru fools.”

Raven sat up, anger forgotten. “If we’re starting a rumor, I’m so in. Say, were you thinking of the Griffin monster? I heard it’s a bad one, ugly like a Cyclops, smelly like Bigfoot.”

“Dude, that wasn’t even good,” Octavia said, crossing her arms.

“No?” said Raven. “Loch Ness Griffin? Count Dracu-griffin? Damn it, Clarke, why aren’t there any good puns with your name?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Clarke said dryly, “but no, we aren’t starting any rumors. I’m just gonna push her enough that Nia thinks we tried, then back off. I really don’t need two evil leaders with giant armies to worry about at once.”

Bellamy nodded. “Alright, got it.”

“Ooo!” yelled Raven, raising her hand like an elementary schooler and shooting up off the couch. “Can we get a code name, at least?”

“Guys, come on, this is serious-”

“Griff, you’re no fun. Come. On!” bullied Octavia.

“Fine. Oh my god, you guys are insufferable,” complained Clarke, but she was smiling. Raven pulled Octavia up and the two started dancing across the room.

“Alright. I’m thinking…” Raven spread her hands widely, pausing dramatically and wiggling her eyebrows, “Operation Pineapple.”

Octavia stopped her bouncing. “What?”

“Alright, listen, I don't expect you to understand my genius right off the bat,” Raven explained. “Pine. The _sticky_ half of the situation, messin’ with Heda. Then, apple. We turn _sweet_ and start cooperating. Throw it all together and we get pineapple. Voilà.”

Octavia snorted. “Seriously, if that's your logic, we might as well call it salted caramel.” She mimicked Raven’s voice: “First, we salty. Then, we sweet. Voilà.”

Raven glared. Octavia turned up her nose. Bellamy had his head in his hands and was muttering to himself.

“It’s a damn good fruit, okay, O?” Raven exclaimed, exasperated.

Octavia stared at her for a moment. “You know that I don’t actually care, right?”

“Operation Pineapple it is!” Raven called gleefully, holding her hand up for a high-five. When neither girl moved to reach her hand, she snorted and high-fived herself loudly.

Bellamy was shaking his head. “Why me? Why did this have to happen to me? Clarke, why am I always the only voice of reason?”

“Nah,” said Clarke, smiling lightly, “afraid you’re the voice of boredom, Bell. Better luck next time.”

\-----

Clarke’s party was ready before the messenger arrived. Dirt washed from their travel-worn bodies, they were back in the clothing they had arrived in, with one slight difference: thick strokes of white Azgeda paint smeared over their cheekbones, not covering the entire face in the typical war pattern, but a strong statement nevertheless.

Clarke and her three advisors, escorted by Geran, arrived to the set of double doors into Lexa’s throne room a few minutes before the messenger even left to collect them. Fixing the guards with a frosty stare, she waited for them to open the doors. They did so, to reveal a long table stretched down the middle of the hall stopping before Heda’s empty throne. Empty, because the Commander sat in the center of one of the table's long sides, surrounded by Trikru. A statement, innocent as it may appear. Heda had picked a side.

Clarke let her features harden. This was worse than she’d thought. She strode into the room, taking the seat directly opposite the Commander. Bellamy settled to her right, Raven and Octavia to her left. Geran hovered a few strides behind her seat, staring past the Trikru expressionlessly.

“You’re earlier than I expected,” the Commander said as the few warriors around her quieted.

“Punctuality is important,” responded Clarke evenly.

“I’m sure you think the same about catching your enemies unaware,” muttered the warrior to Heda’s side. She was tan, with hair streaked blonde toward the tips. Clarke recognized her. She was leading the party that had ambushed them over the Trikru border before Finn died.

“What was that about enemies?” Raven challenged from the other side of the table. She leaned forward, resting her head on her hand and fixed the blonde warrior with a glare. “I thought we were here to work out our differences. Or are you looking for something else?”

“Rest assured, we’re all after peace.” Heda said, cutting in smoothly. “This is Anya, a general.” She signaled to the woman who had spoke. “This is Indra, also a general, and Gustus.”

Clarke let her companions introduce themselves. Despite the short outburst, the two groups settled into dinner and a slightly tense conversation about everything but the issue at hand. Although she couldn’t hear them, Clarke could see Raven waving her hands wildly as she talked with Anya. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to know what their conversation was about.

She and Octavia were talking with Gustus, prodding at his hard exterior. Although he had started the evening with brisk, one-word answers, Clarke could begin to see the corners of his mouth turning up in half smiles at their rather sarcastic commentary on the virtues of Flokru. It seemed the bear of a man didn’t harbor any soft feelings for the boat people.

“General Clarke,” Lexa said as their discussion drew to a close. The others halted their talking, seeming to sense that they would finally be touching upon the subject hanging in the air. Indra looked relieved to have an excuse to turn away from Bellamy.

Lexa continued. “You and a group of warriors crossed the border into Trikru land about a week ago, resulting in a skirmish and the loss of a Trikru warrior.” Clarke nodded. “Why did you cross the border, General?”

“We were tracking a pauna. It crossed into Trikru land. We didn’t want it coming back to terrorize the villages.”

“Why didn’t my group see the pauna, then?” Anya asked.

_Because there wasn’t one._

Raven answered, instead. “Emphasis on _tracking_. You do know how that works, right? You should be glad you didn’t see it. If it had returned during your ambush – nice use of diplomacy, by the way, I like the fight-now-ask-later mentality – then there would be more than two warriors dead.”

Anya crossed her arms. “One warrior died in the attack. He wasn’t even Azgeda, so I don’t see why you sound so concerned.”

Raven smiled sweetly. “And another was murdered afterwards. For all the shit you give Azgeda about needless bloodshed, you seem to have no problems with ending lives without reason.”

“You know the Coalition rules,” Heda said. “Azgeda has harsh laws of their own.”

Raven continued, undeterred. “His name was Finn. Fiercely loyal, kind, and generous.”

“I’m sorry,” Anya said, sounding anything but. “But the only thing I just heard come out of your mouth was murderer.”

Raven shot up from her seat, but Clarke clamped a hand on her wrist before she could say anything. The dark-haired girl clenched her jaw, but slowly sat, silent.

The Commander turned her attention back to Clarke, looking unaffected by Raven’s outburst. “A pauna, sure. However, I’ve heard some… rumors about Azgeda forces moving close to the border, without any of these convenient cover-up stories. Unfortunately, those I cannot as readily dismiss. Anything I should be worried about?”

“Routine patrols.” Clarke tilted her head to the side, studying the Commander. The other woman didn’t so much as blink. “Quite interesting though, the response time of your patrol, Anya.”

Although she said the other girl’s name, it was clear the challenge was issued towards Heda. Clarke continued, “I never quite understood why you felt the need to attack us right away. Such a small patrol, not heavily armed. We could have been peacefully passing to the capital, you know. Anything _I_ should be worried about?”

Heda’s mask didn’t fall. “Routine patrols.”

“But only because you mention it,” Clarke said, “our numbers are growing quite rapidly. It might be nice to have a bit more room.”

She could feel Indra’s hot gaze boring into the white paint on her face at the mention of Azgeda’s expanding numbers, which, of course, meant an expanding army. She hid a smile, wishing Murphy was here. Oh, he’d have fun with the Commander’s hot-tempered General.

“Luckily, you have uninhabited land to your north, no?”

Clarke frowned. “Your Dead Zone may be plagued by fire, Heda, but mine is ruled by ice. It’s an uninhabitable wasteland. Extreme temperatures can take a life in hours. Not quite what I had in mind.”

“Oh, I don’t know Clarke.” Octavia chimed in with false enthusiasm. “Blue is totally your color. Maybe we should invite our Trikru hosts to the northernmost edge of Azgeda land so they can witness for themselves the beauty of blued lips and decaying limbs. Have you ever seen a corpse preserved by the ice before, Heda?”

Clarke had seen many. They all had.

“I will not be relinquishing any Trikru land to Azgeda,” Heda said firmly.

Clarke’s eyes glittered. “Really? You don’t quite fill it like you used to. Surely you wouldn’t notice a few missing miles.”

Heda met her eyes coolly. “It is not my job to cater to Azgeda demands.”

“It is your job, however, to treat the Coalition fairly and serve the twelve clans equally, not hold the comfort of one over the survival of another,” Clarke bit back.

From his spot behind the Commander, Gustus tensed. Clarke could sense Geran take half a step forward.

“Are you trying to insinuate something, General?” Heda asked.

“I just can’t help but feel that your personal preferences towards certain clans come across a bit strong. Tell me, if it was a Trikru warrior who had killed a member of Azgeda that day in the woods, would he have lost his life?”

“We have already discussed this point, General. These are the Coalition laws.”

Clarke’s voice was sharp, cutting like the edge of the blade Anya was fingering. “Is it Coalition law, too, that Azgeda accept the short end of trade agreements? That Azgeda never receive aid when requested, or be the only clan you never visit on your diplomatic trips? That Azgeda bear the brunt of storms and disease and hunger without support from the others? Is that the law you’re referring to, Heda?”

The Commander was silent.

“I’m sorry, Heda,” Clarke said. “But it seems quite obvious that yes, you’re playing favorites. Please, tell me if we have done something to personally offend you, because I see no reason for your unfair treatment. In fact, at times it’s not too difficult to wonder if Azgeda might be better off without the Coalition’s chains.”

Clarke knew her point was strong. It was all true, after all. Clarke expected a harsh rebuke, waves of anger, yes, but the Commander’s silence wasn’t that. It was thick with tension, but with more than anger. Something was wrong.

Clarke was expecting fire to spit from Heda’s eyes; the Coalition was her life’s work. Instead she sat frozen, looking for all the world like a statue.

Chairs scraped the floor harshly as Anya and Indra stood, the latter gripping her sword with whitened knuckles. As Gustus barely held back a growl, Heda was left the only Trikru sitting.

Bellamy gripped the edge of the table, his chair, too, skidding back softly as he realized something wasn’t right. Raven and Octavia exchanged a glance.

Lexa watched as Geran stepped forward lightly, bending to whisper something in the Azgeda General’s ear. The blonde's eyebrows drew together tightly. Lexa still found her blatant show of emotion, at times, bewildering. The General stood swiftly, her companions rising with her, shooting her confused glances.

“Thank you for the lovely dinner, Heda,” she said lowly. “But I think it is time we retire for the night. I trust we both have a lot to think about, and I look forward to continuing this conversation at another time.”

The Azgeda left the room and Lexa felt her heart throb painfully, just once, before settling into the dull state she was accustomed to.

\-----

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that Nia killed the Commander’s girlfriend?” Clarke exploded, turning on Geran. The entire group was meeting in Clarke’s room after a tense walk through the halls, none daring to speak.

“Wait, what?” Raven asked.

Clarke wasn’t done. “Don’t you think that information was at least _a little_ important for me to know before I went in and accused her of abusing our clan without reason? Our queen murdered the girl she loved, for fuck’s sake!”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Raven said, raising a finger. “Nobody said anything about love. She could’ve just been good in bed.”

Clarke halted in her pacing to give Raven a death stare.

“Take a breather, Clarke,” Octavia said. “You wanted to push her, and you did.”

“I wouldn’t have if I had known that Nia sent her head back in a box!” Clarke raged.

“That’s correct,” Geran said, hands folded neatly behind his back. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

“Geran, I literally trust you with my life,” Clarke said, wheeling to face him again. “You can’t keep stuff like this from me. She could’ve lost her shit.”

“I would’ve protected you if that had happened, Clarke,” replied her bodyguard.

“I don’t care, Geran! That’s not the point! The point is, she can now take out all that anger on the Azgeda people. She could wake up tomorrow and decide, ‘yeah, the General’s a bitch, let’s burn some villages to make me feel better!’”

The room was silent for a moment as Clarke caught her breath, chest heaving. She groaned, falling back onto the couch.

Octavia tapped her chin. “Sorry Clarke, I’m gonna be honest here. From what I just saw, Heda isn’t your best impression. Stick to mocking Roan.”

“I don’t think she’d do that,” Bellamy mused from his seat on the bed. “She seemed fairly level-headed, especially considering everything you said.”

Clarke rubbed her eyes. “Guys, this is a mess.”

“Understatement of the year,” Raven declared. “This is a steaming pile of royally fucked shit.”

“What’s with you and shit?” Octavia asked Raven.

As the two started to bicker in the corner, Geran gave Clarke his attention. “I’m sorry, General. I’ll make sure you know everything beforehand from now on.”

Clarke sighed. “Okay, Geran, okay. You’re lucky I like you.”

The man smiled. “You’re a good person, Clarke.”

She nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He dipped his head once and left the room. Bellamy gestured to the empty spot beside him and Clarke sank into the warm furs. They silently watched Raven and Octavia, still arguing in the corner, for a moment.

“How you holding up, princess?” he asked.

“I’m tired of playing both sides,” she replied.

“We’ll get there, eventually.” Bellamy said, rubbing his hand on her back.

“I know, it’s just… recently, eventually is seeming a whole lot further away.”

Bellamy hummed understandingly. “Good news is, if anyone can do it, we can.” He gave her a quick hug and herded Raven and Octavia – now collapsing in a hysterical fits of laughter – from the room. Clarke sat still for a moment before stripping off her clothes and disappearing under the covers for a few hours of disturbed sleep filled with vivid pictures of glassy eyes and bloody smiles.


	3. We Are Our Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you left me a comment, thanks! Y'all put a smile on my face and seriously motivate me to update.  
> If you didn't leave me a comment, I forgive you. But just this once. Leave one this time ;)
> 
> Regardless of your previous commenting tendencies, I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

When Clarke blinked open her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the cold. It blew in from a draft somewhere above; it seeped into her bones from the frozen stones, only separated from skin by the thin layer of her clothes. Then Clarke took in the other telltale signs: the faint musk of mildew, the echoing drip drop of water from somewhere nearby.

And then there were the early rays of morning light, coating the entire room in a monochromatic grey, throwing up sharp shadows from the bars digging into the floor in front of her feet. The whole thing was familiar.

Clarke was locked in a dungeon.

And then there was a cough to her right, and Clarke scrambled to her knees to find herself face to face with a frail form just on the other side of the metal grating. Clarke gripped the iron, knuckles turning white, and the girl, about her age, looked up. Her face was bruised, and her dark skin bore numerous scratches and cuts and scars, and the short black curls falling into her face did little to hide the dark circles under her eyes. Her amber eyes were still burning bright but she looked so, so hollow.

Something itched in the back of Clarke’s mind. This happened already. The place was too familiar. It was Nia’s dungeon, she realized, something snapping into place. But something else was still missing. What wasn’t clicking?

Clarke reached her hands through the bars. The girl looked up, distrust evident in her eyes. But she hesitantly extended her arm, slowly, like Clarke might disappear.

An inch before their hands met, everything suddenly shifted, and it was Finn behind the bars, bloody and broken and panicked. He seized her hand and now it was coated in his blood and he was screaming and his eyes were glazed over like he wasn’t even seeing the blonde in front of him.

“Clarke, Clarke!” he was crying. “You have to save me, please, help me. Please, Clarke. They’re going to kill me.”

“Finn? What’s happening?” Clarke found herself demanding, but it was as if he couldn’t hear her.

His eyes abruptly focused on her and his grasp became painful. “It’s your fault, Clarke. You told us to cross the border, and now they’re going to kill me. You killed me.”

Clarke blinked and time shifted again. It was darker out and the same girl was in the cell next to her. Her cuts were fresh this time, old bruises yellowed over. Clarke found herself in the middle of wrapping the girl’s wrist. Her fingernails were short and chipped, her hands covered in calluses and dirt.

“Costia,” she said.

“What?”

“My name is Costia,” the girl repeated.

Clarke blinked.

More sunlight streamed through the window now, and Costia was halfway across the room, shrieking and clawing at anything and everything as two of Nia’s guards dragged her out of the cell. She managed to kick one in the stomach and he doubled over, but then his partner hit her hard over the head and she went limp.

Clarke blinked again.

Clarke was alone this time, but she could hear Costia’s agonized screams above her, filling her ears and bouncing around in her head until her hands tore at her ears and she couldn’t think.

_Blink._

Costia was back in her cell, a jumbled heap on the floor. Her shallow panting barely lifted her weak form and she didn’t even lift her head to look at Clarke.

_Blink._

The light was blinding now, and Clarke was still in the cell. But the adjoining cell was gone, instead placed by countless faceless figures standing outside, watching her.

Nia’s voice sounded directly in her ear, “You want out of the dungeon, Sky Girl? You know what you have to do. Just kill her. Just one little cut with one little knife. It’s nothing you haven’t done before.”

“No!” Clarke yelled, wildly turning her head to search for the voice’s owner.

But Nia wasn’t there. Instead, the faces watching her became clearer and clearer. Finn, tapping his knuckle against the bar of her cell in a repetitive motion. The captain, eyes still puffy from poison, flinging questions at her about his son. And the others she had killed, pressing into the cage around her, scrambling up the sides and over one another in an attempt to get inside.

_Blink._

“Please, Clarke,” Costia rasped, her voice gravelly and her breathing harsh. They were back in the cell. “I can’t take it anymore. Just end it, please. Please.”

“But…”

“It’s okay. I forgive you,” the dark girl said, light smile in place.

_Blink._

They weren’t in the dungeon anymore. The light reflected harshly off the snow in the middle of the Toron’s city square as the Queen looked on, jagged teeth flashing as she smiled.

Someone pressed a knife into Clarke’s hand. Costia was tied to a pole before her, gone limp as if it was too much effort to hold her own body weight anymore. Clarke knew what she was supposed to do.

She took a step forward. Costia lifted her head, nodded once. Her eyes were brighter today despite her worn appearance, and she tilted her head to the sky as if searching for something.

Clarke took another step forward so there was barely an inch of space between their chests, Clarke’s heart raging wildly, while Costia’s beat calmly in her skinny frame.

Clarke swallowed, her mouth dry, and leaned forward to whisper softly in Costia’s ear. “Yu gonplei ste odon.”

“Thank you,” Costia breathed, as Clarke sunk the knife, hilt deep, into her heart.

_Blink._

Clarke was let out of the dungeon.

_Blink._

Costia’s lifeless body was dragged into the palace.

_Blink._

Costia’s headless body was deposited outside the city walls.

_Blink._

Her hands were stained with Costia’s blood, dried crimson running down her forearms in broken streams, like the first rainfall after years of drought carving new channels in her flesh.

A braid of black, curly hair was dropped in Clarke’s lap. She looked up to see Nia walking away, cruel smirk firmly in place.

\-----

Clarke’s eyes burst open as she shot up in bed, breathing heavily. She groaned, rubbing her forehead and trying to scrub the nightmare from her retina. She threw off the sheets tangled around her legs and peeled off the sweaty nightshirt sticking to her skin.

Crossing the room, she rested her temple on the cool chipped glass of the window, watching the tip of the sun barely peak over the trees off in the distance. She was used to waking up before the others, internal clock tuned to the early Azgeda sunrise.

She picked clothes at random from the dresser on her left, pulling on a loose-fitting pair of linen trousers and a plain white long-sleeved shirt. After pulling her tousled hair back and braiding it quickly, she strapped on her short sword and stepped outside.

She was met by Octavia, similar dark circles under her eyes. The two walked together in a comfortable silence to the training pitch just outside the tower. The sun was just clearing the tops of the trees surrounding the city, sprinkling the ground with a rosy glow.

Stopping in the middle of the dirt clearing making up the training field, Clarke swung into her first stance, stretching her sword forward like an extension of her arm. On the other side of the field, Octavia mirrored her. The two moved closer, one graceful lunge at a time, each new pose bringing them one step closer. As their bodies began to warm and their muscles began to loosen, their movements became faster, harsher, sharper. They danced around each other, perfect opposites, always a breath away from touching.

Clarke broke the rhythm to swing under Octavia’s extended sword, drawing her own up to chest level. Octavia turned, swinging her sword around in a circle. For a moment, nothing moved. The breeze played with the loosened strands of Clarke’s hair as the two stood stock-still.

Then, Octavia lunged. The clatter of steel on steel burst through their hushed bubble as the two friends fell into a dangerous tempo, slashing, stabbing, advancing, retreating. Clarke ducked under Octavia’s attacks, waiting for a chance to slip inside her guard. Octavia, for her part, kept Clarke at bay with her longer blade, landing the occasional glancing blow.

Clarke saw her chance when Octavia struck next, rolling with her blow instead of stepping back to evade it. She breezed into the brunette’s guard, using her body to block Octavia’s longer sword and prevent her from countering the move. Octavia grabbed the sharp side of Clarke’s sword with her free hand, pushing it away as Clarke drew it forward. Octavia brought her own sword forward, about to push Clarke back, when she froze.

Looking down, Octavia saw the knife in Clarke’s free hand, pressed lightly against her stomach. Groaning, she looked up into Clarke’s smirking face.

“I hate you,” she said.

“Love you, too,” Clarke said, stepping back, victorious smile firmly in place.

“That’s a dirty trick,” Octavia said, pointing a finger accusingly.

“Sore loser.”

“God complex,” Octavia spat back, albeit playfully, not missing a beat.

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who grabbed my blade with your bare hand.”

“Listen here, Griffin, I wanted to win. Nothing wrong with some healthy competition.”

“How did that work out for you?”

Octavia raised her arm in the classic talk-to-the-hand gesture. “Don’t wanna hear it.”

Clarke shrugged. “All I’m saying is that now you’ve got a bloody hand and nothing to show for it.”

“Just fix me up already, Griff,” Octavia huffed.

Clarke relented in her teasing and, grabbing their swords, turned from the dusty pit towards the dim entrance to the tower. But, before she could reach the door, the Commander emerged from under a shady veranda.

“Actually, General,” she said, “I had hoped you’d join me for a quick spar.” The Commander was missing most of her heavy armor - most notably, the red sash marking her rank. But her face was still half hidden behind the dark layer of paint covering her eyes.

Octavia raised an eyebrow, turning to face Clarke. The blonde woman regarded her silently for a moment, then nodded to Octavia.

“You can get Bell or someone to wrap that for you, right, O?”

Octavia pursed her lips but gave a mock salute and trudged back into the tower. The Commander stepped onto the training pitch, kicking up light puffs of dust as she rolled her shoulders. Leaving her sword strapped to her back, she began an obviously well-practiced stretching routine to warm up.

Clarke regarded the Commander as the girl continued loosening her shoulder. “No bodyguard today?” Clarke asked.

Without looking up, Heda responded, “I could ask the same of you.”

Clarke lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “You can’t tell anyone, but Geran has a penchant for sleeping in when he’s able.”

The Commander looked up, meeting Clarke’s eyes, but didn’t respond. Clarke sighed internally, wondering if the other girl actually hated her, or just wasn’t a morning person. Unfortunately, she was leaning towards the former.

“So,” Clarke said, uncomfortable in the silence. Maybe it was an intimidation tactic. Silent stretching and poorly-hidden glares? It was more effective than she cared to admit. “This isn’t some secret ploy to have me executed for trying to attack you, right?” Clarke said, chuckling to herself.

“I assure you, General,” Heda replied, “that wouldn’t be wise of me, nor is it why I’m here.”

So it was business as usual. Clarke bit back a snort, wondering if the Commander had ever done anything without a hidden agenda.

Clarke tossed her short sword a few feet away in favor of two sturdy knives. They were stronger than typical assassin blades she used for undercover missions. The handles were worn, molded around her index finger so that she could easily spin the blades in her hands. The metal was asymmetrical, slightly curved, with a few teeth in the back end.

Clarke bent her knees, settling into her stance.  “Why are you here then, Heda?”

The warrior tilted her head, studying Clarke. Without warning, she sprung forward, angling her sword towards Clarke’s body. Clarke bobbed and evaded the blow, re-emerging to Heda’s left.

When the Commander stuck again, a strong swing over her head, Clarke met her blow with both her knives. Keeping her weapon pressed against the other girl’s, she pushed up on Heda’s sword to duck underneath and invade the other woman’s guard. Anticipating her next move, the brunette pushed down, bunching her muscles, then leapt, using Clarke's force to propel herself over the other girl's back and land a few feet away.

Turning, she flicked a piece of dirt from her tunic. “I still believe it is necessary for our clans to reach an understanding. Despite your decidedly aggressive nature last night, it’s possible you’re still the best Azgeda official to craft an agreement with.”

Clarke flicked her wrist, sending her blades into a spin in her hand. “Why do you think I’d be the most receptive to an agreement?”

The Commander responded, “I said it’s possible. I haven’t reached a conclusion yet.”

Clarke ran towards the Commander, ducking at the last minute under the brunette’s raised blade and tapping her shin lightly with the flat side of her dagger. She rolled away, dust caking her shirt.

Heda seemed confused, pointedly looking down at the crease left on her pants and then back to Clarke. “Why did you do that?”

Clarke tutted, “Sorry, not the rules. I tapped you, I ask the questions. If you can manage to hit me, then you get to ask yours. So Heda, why me?”

Heda’s eyes glinted with the challenge. Her lips curled up into a chilling smile. “Evidently, you care for the wellbeing of Azgeda. I’m sure you’d be open to an agreement that would be mutually beneficial. Despite what your Queen thinks, land doesn’t offer the only advantage.”

Clarke was so busy contemplating the answer that she didn’t see Heda move until it was too late. She threw up her knives hastily, barely avoiding the coming blow. The brunette pressed her advantage, however, and Clarke had to quickly block move after move, slowly losing ground. The warrior leaned left but struck right, and Clarke ended up with the tip of a sword poking lightly between her ribs.

“Where are you from?” The Commander asked.

Clarke loosened her stance and raised an eyebrow. “Out of all the questions you could possibly ask, you want to know where I’m from?”

Heda tilted her head, studying Clarke intently. “Yes. By all accounts, you suddenly appeared in Azgeda a few years ago. There is no record of you before then. Usually generals are from well-known families, but you’re not. You just showed up.”

Clarke nodded, the practiced lie easily rolling off her tongue. “I’m not from a well-known family. I’m from a village far in the northern part of Azgeda. Your spies likely didn’t hear of me before then because they’re not accustomed to the cold and didn’t want to make the trip.”

“The rest of Azgeda’s court doesn’t know where you came from, either,” pressed the Commander, ignoring Clarke’s jab.

Clarke smiled slyly. “Sorry, only one question.”

The Commander’s face set in a determined frown. Clarke twirled her knives again and was on the brunette with a flurry of quick strikes. She ducked under each of the Commander’s blows, but the other girl stayed just out of reach.

Clarke finally ducked under a particularly low cut and kicked out her legs towards Heda’s feet. The girl jumped over her kick, but Clarke exploded up off the ground, catching her midair and slamming her to the ground.

Grinning, Clarke sat on top of the pinned girl. “What did you think of me before we met?”

The Commander raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“Come on, who did you think you were dealing with?” asked Clarke.

“You’re a bit conceited, aren’t you?” the Commander retorted.

Clarke smiled again, but it was sharper this time. “A little reputation never hurt anyone.”

“From what I’ve heard, you are ruthless on the battlefield. An assassin who rose through the ranks with unprecedented speed. As for how that happened- well, as you can imagine, most of my advisors believe there to be some backstabbing involved.”

“And you?” Clarke asked, noting how the Commander omitted herself from that last statement. “What do you believe?”

The Commander stared at her. “Sorry, only one question,” she said with the hint of a smile at repeating Clarke’s earlier words.

Clarke huffed but stood to let the Commander stand. She was mulling over the answer when suddenly – again – she found herself face up on the ground, staring at a sun that was now hanging a bit higher in the sky. She tilted her head up to see the Commander’s boots.

“Why are you scarred?” asked the Commander.

Clarke leaned forward on her elbows to study the Commander, raising one eyebrow. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Heda, all Azgeda warriors have scars. I am Azgeda. Therefore, I have scars.”

The Commander crouched down, unimpressed. “In case _you_ hadn’t noticed, General, the assassins don’t. It’s hard to blend into a crowd when you have a giant scar covering your face, don’t you think?”

“As is a general’s burden.” Clarke answered simply, shrugging.

“Why do some of your companions share the same scar as you?” the Commander continued.

It was true. All remaining members of the Delinquents had the same scar on their forehead: the triple-pronged, star-like shape. The symbol of the Ark. Coincidentally, Clarke had learned, it was the symbol of death in an old, forgotten language from the ground.

Clarke stopped herself from spurting out a joke about the one question rule, instead explaining, “It is the sign of my village, Ark.”

“But most warriors don’t share the same mark, even if they are from the same village,” Heda insisted.

“That’s true,” said Clarke, offering no further explanation.

The reality was that Nia felt the need to mark the Delinquents, force them to live with a constant reminder of their “loyalty” branded onto their foreheads. Clarke used to brim with anger whenever she thought about it too long, to the point that she avoided mirrors for a year. But now, she wore the symbol with pride, a sign of unity and strength among her companions.

Realizing that she wouldn’t get much more from the General, the Commander stepped back and allowed Clarke to her feet. After a few more minutes of blades dancing back and forth, twisting and undulating bodies, Clarke pinned her knife to the Commander’s throat.

She stepped back, eyes wild, breathing heavily. She bit her lip in silence for a moment, considering her next words. Drawing her eyes up to meet the Commander’s, softening her voice considerably, she asked, “Did you love her?”

The Commander sucked in a breath, but it was the only sign of her surprise. She didn’t have to ask Clarke to clarify. There was a long pause. “I did. But that has always been secondary to my purpose in life. A convenience, if you will. Pleasant but unnecessary.”

Something in Clarke’s open expression, sympathetic, pressed the Commander to continue. Her voice hardened. “It’s simple. Head over heart.”

Clarke noticed the tightening of the corners of Heda’s mouth, the slight stiffening in her shoulders. She smiled. “You really cared for her. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

The Commander turned, eyes flashing. “Love is weakness. I know that, and Costia knew where I stood on the matter. Don’t speak of matters you know so little about.”

But Clarke had tuned out the Commander’s righteous speech about mental clarity in battle and the ability to make the hard calls. Because she was focusing on the name. That _name_.

“What- what did you say? Just now?” she questioned, searching the Commander’s eyes with a hint of panic.

The Commander crossed her arms, leaving no room for argument. “Love is weakness.”

“No, no,” Clarke said, waving her hand in the air fleetingly. “After that. What was her name?”

Heda frowned. “Costia?”

Clarke wanted to run her hands through her hair, let out a strangled scream. Instead, she just nodded. “Oh.”

The Commander turned towards Clarke, taking step forward. “Why? Did you know her?”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah I met her when we- I mean, she was in the dungeons.” She looked at Heda apologetically, trying to pass her accidental slip for concern over Heda’s reaction.

In that moment, Clarke swore she could feel the temperature drop a few degrees.

The brunette nodded. She took a step as if to walk away, then paused. “Did she have a good death? Did Nia do it herself, or was it an executioner?”

Clarke could feel her throat constricting painfully. Determined to keep her emotions in check, she busied herself with her knives, wiping away any traces of dust before sliding them back into their sheathes. “Oh, no, it was just another warrior.” The lie felt bitter in her mouth.

The Commander nodded again, full mask back in place. “I have some matters to attend to now,” she said. Her voice was completely guarded. Well shit, that went well. “We will meet again later to discuss the treaty.”

Clarke nodded, watching the Commander gather her sword and set a brisk pace towards the tower, disappearing into the dim corridor.

The city was waking up now, noises flitting from houses nearby as the sun beat down in the cloudless sky. Clarke barely suppressed a scream of frustration. Just as she had thought the Commander was warming up, that little nugget of joy had popped up.

Of course, the woman in the cell beside Clarke four years prior was the Commander’s lover. Of course, Clarke had killed Heda’s fucking girlfriend.

Clarke left the field feeling the rift between clans more strongly than ever. The conversation had only reminded the two women of the vast differences in their cultures, the incredible distance between their two lives. The harsh reality of their situation: when it came down to it, Azgeda and Trikru were enemies. Clarke had a feeling those lines wouldn’t be redrawn anytime soon.

She started the day with the fresh defeat hanging in the back of her mind, blanketing her mind with anger and suspicion.

\-----

The servant girl assigned to Clarke’s room was trembling when the General slammed open the doors, storming across the room with thunder marring her pretty features. Lilath, accustomed to treating temperamental ambassadors and familiar with Azgeda thanks to one unforgettable encounter with the Prince two years prior, knew exactly when to get out of the way. 

She tripped over her feet in her haste to remove herself from the raging blonde’s path, clearing her throat lightly when the General started muttering angrily to herself.

“Well?” the warrior demanded, turning on her feet to shoot Lilath a dirty look.

“I, um- General, I could draw you a bath. If you’d like, ma’am,” Lilath stuttered out, eyes fixed on the ground. This blonde seemed to match the schema she’d created after meeting Roan, and she wasn’t in the mood to incense her any further.

The blonde seemed to deflate, waiting silently for a minute. Lilath chanced a glance up, eyes meeting clear blue before darting back down to study the patterned carpet. Her arm itched. She ached to scratch it. She didn’t move.

Finally the General nodded once, stepping out of Lilath’s way to let her pass into the bathing chamber. Lilath knelt on the stone as she filled the tub with the steaming water, happy to be out from under the other woman’s heavy gaze. She would most certainly not want to meet the Azgeda warrior on the battlefield.

After dropping a few scented petals into the water and testing its temperature, she poked her head out into the room where the General was combing out her hair.

“General?”

The woman looked up, eyes more tired than angry now, and nodded, crossing the room. She stood in the center of the floor, surveying the tub of water. Lilath crept up behind her, lifting the edge of the General’s shirt to help the woman undress, when the golden woman spun, seizing her wrist in an iron clasp, but not before she saw the beginnings of a tattoo on the General’s back.

“What are you doing?” the blonde spat out.

Lilath jumped. “I’m helping you, General. That’s what- don’t your servants help you bathe?”

The General released her arm, pursing her lips. Lilath had to bite back a grimace at the feeling of the blood rushing back into her hand all at once.

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you, that will be all,” the General said dismissively, turning around.

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m supposed to help you, and-” started Lilath.

“I said, that will be all,” the blonde interrupted her, voice raising dangerously.

Lilath nodded furiously, backing away. She shuffled out of the room, accidentally knocking over a vase and just barely catching it with a squeak.

“Wait,” the General said, just as Lilath was about to sprint across the threshold and out of the room.

Lilath turned to see the General still in the middle of the room, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

“I’m sorry,” the blonde said.

Lilath’s jaw dropped. Was there something wrong with her hearing? Because she just thought she heard…

“I’m not having the best day,” the blonde continued, chuckling wryly. “Actually, a pretty shit day. I promise I’m not usually this much of an asshole.”

Nope, she heard correctly. Maybe the General was sick or something. Either way, best to get out now.

“Um, okay. Sure,” Lilath sputtered out.

She was just about to open the door to attempt her escape for the second time, when it opened for her. Or rather, the curly-haired captain opened it.

“Yo, Princess, you’re not going to believe what Raven just told me. I- oh, hey,” he said, spotting Lilath. On the ground. Where she tumbled when he barreled into her.

He grinned, pulling her up onto her feet. “I didn’t know you had company, Clarke.”

The General shrugged. She hadn’t moved to get into the bath, staring at the water like it had personally offended her.

Lilath’s head shot back and forth between the to Azgeda warriors, seemingly engaged in a silent conversation. They were just staring. With a jolt, Lilath realized they were staring – at her.

“Right, well. I’m just gonna. Go,” Lilath said, nodding to herself.

She shot off down the hall before they could get in another word. Slipping through the servant passages and up a couple flight of stairs, she soon found herself before another door. She knocked lightly, four times. The door was quickly yanked open to reveal a steely eye. The eye narrowed, before the door was yanked open fully, and an arm pulled her inside.

It was small, an old sitting room, now devoid of all furnishings. The walls were bare, rows of stone only broken by a single window set high against one wall, letting in just enough light for Lilath to see her companion’s geometric tattoo.

“Well?” Titus snarled, hands clasped behind his back.

Lilath took a deep breath, able to lift the veil of her timid façade now that she was away from the Azgeda warriors. She crossed her arms, unimpressed, and lifted her chin to address the Fleimkepa. “Does Heda know about this? Because Heda should know about this.”

The tall man stepped forward, irritation clearly painted across his features. “That does not concern you. I will tell Heda what she needs to know. You will keep your mouth shut to everyone but me. Is that clear?”

Lilath set her jaw grudgingly. “Yes, Fleimkepa.”

She had some moral qualms about the entire situation, but knew better than to play with the Commander’s advisors. The Azgeda... they deserved pain, regardless.

“Well?” Titus asked again, jutting his head up, “What did you learn?”

Lilath cleared her throat and began a long, detailed account of each of the private conversations she had witnessed in the General Clarke’s room from the past twenty-four hours. As she would do the next day. And the next day. And the next. Again and again until Titus had the proof he needed to expel Azgeda, permanently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The secrets! THE SECRETS!
> 
> Leave a kudo if you hate a certain bald, shiny head with all your heart and soul :)


	4. We Are Coalesced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's been a little while since I updated. Need a refresher? I do.
> 
> *dramatic movie voice*  
> Previously on Ice's Champion...  
> After crash landing in Azgeda territory and surviving Nia's wrath, Clarke finds herself an Azgeda General in Polis, sent to work out a treaty with Lexa & Co. after a skirmish at the border. So far, tensions have been pretty high between Trikru and Clarke's group of advisors, even though Clarke doesn't want to pick another fight with Nia already on her hands. And because no dramatic rendition is complete without a host of secrets, Clarke has realized that the woman Nia had her kill back in Azgeda was none other than Costia, and Titus has put a handmaiden up to spying on the Azgeda crew. 
> 
> Comments! Kudos! Virtual hugs!

A few days later, early morning spars with Octavia had become part of Clarke’s daily routine. The two would rise with the sun and meet down on the training pitch. The two had always practiced together while they were stationed on the border but hadn’t been able to keep up with the habit while traveling to Polis.

After one such spar, Clarke emerged from the bathroom, newly scrubbed, and plopped down on her bed. She ran her fingers through her damp hair to comb out the knots.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Clarke directed to Raven, who had awoken and crawled into Clarke’s room sometime while she was bathing.

“Hey. A messenger stopped by like five minutes ago. The Commander wants to meet in the afternoon to tour around the tower.”

“That’s weird. I haven’t heard from her in a couple days,” Clarke mused.

Octavia chose that minute to walk back into the room, groaning. “It’s a tower, how much is there to see?”

Raven snorted, taking offense. “One, it’s an engineering marvel that this tower is still standing after the nuclear fallout. The guys building this were geniuses. I mean, obviously I could have done it better, but still pretty damn good. Two, you’re not invited, so you won’t have to sit through it. Important people only, it seems.”

Clarke sighed. “Alright, that’s fine. I’ll have to convince Geran to let me be for an hour or two.”

Raven snapped her fingers. “Already done. He’s playing Robin Hood with Bellamy somewhere outside. It took me twenty minutes to convince him that Octavia and I were capable of protecting you for an hour.”

“I swear, he forgets that I’m a trained warrior,” Clarke said, shaking her head.

“Oh, no,” said Raven.

“Here we go again…” Octavia whined.

“What? I’m serious, guys,” Clarke insisted.

“Actually, Clarke, we’ve heard you argue this one over with Geran more times than I’ve seen Nia frown,” Raven said, holding up a hand to stop her.

Octavia nodded. “I’m pretty sure we know the whole argument word for word.”

Raven deepened her voice into an over-exaggerated imitation of Geran. “General, your safety is my priority. You are too important for any danger to befall you.”

Octavia jumped in, folding her arms and frowning widely in what was supposed to her best Clarke impersonation. “It wasn’t a request, it was an order. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“But General,” Raven said in the same billowing voice, “If anything were to happen-”

“Alright, alright,” Clarke said, waving her hands widely. “I get it. You guys suck. Do something productive while I get the fancy tour, will you?”

“Sure, sure,” Raven said, shooing her away. “Hey, O, eating is productive, right?”

“Definitely,” came the brunette’s response. “I bullied one of the guards into showing me the kitchens the other day.”

“Sayonara, Clarke,” Raven said, wiggling her fingers in a wave as she and Octavia practically skipped from the room. “Don’t have too much fun without us.”

\-----

Clarke let her eyes flit between the faces milling about the base of the tower as she stepped out of the elevator. She found Heda under the red awning covering one merchant stall. The brunette looked at ease, chatting with the vendor, but straightened up when Clarke entered her peripheral vision.

“Heda,” Clarke greeted her, dipping her head. She was clinging onto the hope that maybe this meeting would end more positively than the last few.

The Commander dipped her head in return, green eyes burning into Clarke through her black mask. Clarke, on the other hand, had stopped painting her face in white since the dinner her first night there.

“How are you faring this afternoon, General?” the warrior asked, gesturing for Clarke to follow her back into the tower.

“I’m well,” Clarke answered, slightly confused by the other woman’s sudden hospitality. “We’ve been enjoying our stay here. Polis is a lovely city.”

The Commander nodded. “It is. Polis holds the best of us.”

Raising an eyebrow, Clarke studied the Commander’s expression out of the corner of her eye, trying to read into that cryptic message, but as always, her features were carefully smoothed over to reveal nothing.

The conversation faded into discussions of guest rooms and meeting halls, libraries and armories as Heda redirected their attention to the building around them. Clarke was surprised to learn a number of things about the ancient tower, like the names of the guards who powered the elevator and the number of levels - 72, by the way.

As the elevator grinded to a halt on the tallest floor, the rattling of the machinery faded into the sounds of gusty wind and faint chattering, almost inaudible, floating up from below. Clarke stepped onto the roof, peeking over the concrete rail to the bustling city far below. Tiny colorful dots inched across the busy streets, radiating out from the tower at the city’s heart until stopping at the treeline.

It was calm. It was peaceful.

Clarke turned to face the Commander, who was watching her attentively, hands clasped behind her back. The corner of her mouth ticked up in a half smile at the blonde’s wide eyes.

Heda joined Clarke at the rail, forcing her attention back to the metropolis laid out before them.

“I come up here to think, sometimes,” Heda offered.

Clarke nodded, finding her eyes drifting between the many buildings far below. “It puts everything in perspective.”

They were silent for a few moments before Heda spoke up again, turning to face Clarke.

“I have reached my decision.”

Clarke dragged her attention from the city below. She was itching to paint it. Another time, perhaps. “Your decision, about what?”

“About you being the best to help me draft a treaty with Azgeda.”

“Oh?”

“I have an idea you might find appealing,” Heda explained, tapping her fingers against the concrete wall lightly.

Clarke couldn’t help it - she threw her head back in a laugh. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me you want to draft a treaty right now. On the roof?”

Heda had turned to face the city again, so Clarke couldn’t see her face, but her voice was amused. “I thought it might help put things in perspective.”

“Touché. What’s this idea of yours?”

“Every year, two clans are given the honor of sending a portion of their army to the capital to act as guards for the tower and myself,” the Commander started.

“Yes…” Clarke said, slightly confused at where this was going. She was up to date with the customs. Every year, Heda named two clans that were to protect the capital, considered a privilege to be chosen. This year, Floukru and Trishana had served the Commander: the clans were always close allies with Heda’s clan. The Commander’s personal guards were always, without exception, Trikru.

The Commander turned her head, eyes burning into Clarke’s with fierce sincerity. “I’d like to name Azgeda the second clan to guard the capital as we switch into the new year.”

Clarke blinked. What?

Realizing she hadn’t said anything, she tried again. “What? But Azgeda hasn’t guarded the capital in nearly-”

“Never,” Heda said, nodding her head in confirmation.

“You’re serious,” Clarke said, folding her arms.

The Commander only nodded her assent once more.

“I- of course, Heda. I’ll have to send a messenger to Toron so Nia can sign off on the treaty, but it would be an honor.”

“The other clan will be Trikru, General,” the Commander warned, before Clarke could get too excited.

Clarke deflated a bit, but it was to be expected. It was the smart move. Heda would show Azgeda her willingness to cooperate, but back herself up with her own clan if anything went south. And hopefully, the agreement would help to warm the two groups up to each other.

Clarke nodded her head. It was a start to easing relations, a symbolic olive branch. It wouldn’t solve all their problems, but it was a start.

As if she could hear Clarke’s thoughts, Heda spoke up. “I know it isn’t a perfect solution, but I hope it will convey that I want to start helping Azgeda. I can’t exactly march into your territory right now, even to give my aid. Tensions are too high, Nia would just call it an invasion.”

Clarke squared her shoulders and held her arm out in front of her. “Thank you, Heda.”

The Commander hesitated for a fraction of a second, enough that Clarke questioned if the pause had happened at all. But she met Clarke’s forearm in a firm handshake. “Thank you for hearing me out, General.”

“Clarke.”

“What?”

“Clarke,” the blonde repeated. “Call me Clarke. It seems we’re going to be seeing much more of each other than initially expected.”

The Commander just dipped her head again, seeming to recover from whatever surprise she felt at the offer. “Alright. Thank you, Clarke.”

The silence stretched for another awkward beat.

“Well then,” said the Commander, clearing her throat. “Send that messenger to Nia for her agreement and a unit of warriors. I’ll make the official announcement tonight, and the actual switch will take place at the end of the month. I expect it will take some time for your army to settle in here, but the barracks are open and they’re welcome to set up camp as soon as they arrive.”

Clarke said nothing, arms crossed.

“Is there a problem, General?” The Commander asked.

“One, it’s Clarke. Two, this is supposed to be the part where you tell me that I can drop the title and call you by your actual name.”

The Commander just smirked. “I’ll see you for more planning at a later time, Clarke.”

\-----

“Have you lost your senses?” Titus demanded.

Lexa had met with her advisors immediately after her conversation with Clarke. After explaining the situation, they had practically bolted the doors shut to demand an explanation. 45 minutes later, Lexa’s head was pounding.

To be completely honest, Lexa hadn’t yet made up her mind as to if she was going to offer Azgeda the second spot in the capital. She was only planning to give the other woman the tour - just in case. If she did follow through with the idea, Clarke would already know the tower. If not, no harm done.

But then she opened her mouth and the offer flew out. She hadn't known until that moment that she even wanted to go through with the plan, and she definitely hadn't yet found the time to consult her advisors about it. And now, they were fuming.

Lexa rubbed her eyes. “No, Titus, I assure you I am perfectly sound of mind.”

Indra gestured wildly as she paced the room before Lexa’s throne. “I agree with Titus, for once. Heda, this puts your oldest enemy in the prime position for an assassination, spying- anything!”

Lexa sighed. “This will ease tensions with my oldest enemy, Indra. It’s a strategic risk that I'm willing to take.”

“I'm sorry, Heda. I cannot support your decision,” Indra said, frowning vehemently.

“Actually Indra, I don't think you're giving Lexa enough credit,” Anya said, standing up from where she was quietly slouched against the wall.

The blonde moved to the center of the room, picking at her nails disinterestedly. “Just as they could potentially spy on us, we could gather our own intel. I'm sure our resident Azgeda General has some idea of what Nia’s up to.”

Lexa frowned. “I hope you're not suggesting that we interrogate the woman, Anya. That's a sure way to spark a war.”

“Not at all,” Anya reassured the other woman. “Just, if she happens to let anything slip, I wouldn't have any qualms with using that information later.” She shrugged.

Indra grunted in acquiescence.

“It also splits their army, Indra. Divided, it won't be easy for Nia to spread any orders to them,” Lexa said, turning her attention back to the pacing warrior. “On the other hand, Polis is close enough to Trikru that it won’t necessarily put any more stress on our warriors. This won’t cost us anything.”

“I suppose there are some benefits to your plan, Heda,” Indra acknowledged begrudgingly. “But I’m going to be watching them. Very closely.”

Inwardly, Lexa rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Indra.”

Meanwhile Titus’ mouth had dropped open, and his head was quickly darting between Anya and Indra, looking outraged. “You’re supporting this? Heda, you’re inviting frostbitten scum into your capital for twelve months.”

Lexa leveled a dark glare onto Titus. “You’d do well to remember that the ‘frostbitten scum’ are our allies, and the entire point of this is to bolster respect between our clans. Petty name calling does not help achieve that goal.”

Titus drew his chin up angrily. “That doesn’t negate the fact that you’ll be housing an army of bloodthirsty warriors who serve a queen that wants you dead. We don’t need that in this city.”

“Titus,” Lexa snapped, standing up from her throne. “Our mission is to ensure they no longer want me dead. They’re members of the Coalition and are always allowed in the capital, regardless of any special invitation. You will be more respectful of our goals, or you will leave.”

Titus clenched his jaw, but managed to spit out through his grit teeth, “Fine.”

Lexa sat back down, taking a deep breath. “We’re all in agreement then. Azgeda will join Trikru as one of the clans tasked with protecting the capital, effective next month.”

Her various advisors murmured their assent, in various measures of enthusiasm, and took their leave.

\-----

Three days later, Clarke sat at her desk, tapping her chin and muttering to herself as Bellamy stood behind her, leaning over the table with one strong arm positioned adjacent to the ink-splattered parchment the pair were studying so intently.

“At least one company of archers would be ideal,” Bellamy finally spoke up, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Knowing Nia, she’ll selfishly want to keep as many of them outside Toron’s walls as possible,” Clarke sighed.

Bellamy frowned. “We really have no idea what chunk of the army she’ll send, do we?”

Clarke shook her head. “I’m not exactly expecting the best. Our beloved Queen doesn’t have the resources to spare on us lowly servants playing diplomats in the capital. All that’s certain is that she’ll be sending that Spymaster down. The annoying one with the pointy nose.”

“I really hate that guy,” Bellamy commented, wrinkling his nose. He pointed to a corner of the paper, a map Clarke had drawn of the city. Rather than asking one of the resident guards for a map, she had elected to spend the previous day on top of the tower, carefully sketching the city’s outline and defenses.

Bellamy’s voice was a quiet rumble behind her, the only sound in the room save the occasional scratch on paper when they agreed on something and wrote in a mark. The plan was starting to come together when the two were startled out of their preparation by a firm knock on the door.

Clarke called out for the visitor to enter, and the door swung inward as the Commander stepped inside, dressed down and missing her red sash.

She seemed surprised to see Bellamy there. “Are you busy? I just wanted to catch you to discuss something. I assumed you wouldn’t be occupied this late.”

Clarke shot a glance towards the windows, and sure enough, the sun had disappeared behind the trees. The handmaiden - Lilath, wasn’t it? - must have come in quietly at some point to light the candles now casting a dull glow around the room.

Clarke turned back toward Lexa. “I guess we lost track of time. Bell, I think we got most of this done. Do you want to finish it tomorrow?”

The man nodded, running his fingers through his tangled hair and stifling a yawn. “Sounds good. Goodnight, Clarke.”

“Goodnight.”

He crossed the room, offering Lexa a polite smile as he passed. When they were alone, Lexa padded closer to peer over Clarke’s shoulder at the writing on her desk.

“That’s a map of the city,” she said, recognizing the design. “I haven’t seen that exact copy before. Where did you get it?”

“I made it,” Clarke explained. “Turns out the roof is good for more than one kind of perspective.”

Lexa made an interested sound, eyes still raking over every detail on the paper. “I didn’t know you could draw. It’s very accurate.”

“Thank you,” Clarke accepted easily.

After a beat of silence, Clarke cleared her throat, standing and gesturing over to the sitting area. She sunk into the couch, watching as Lexa sat very primly on the edge of the chair opposite her.

“Did you send the messenger to Toron to speak with Nia?” Lexa asked.

“I did, two mornings ago,” Clarke replied.

“Oh, okay. Good,” the Commander said. “It’s about a four day journey round trip, if they switch carriers halfway to give the horse a rest. So I guess we’ll hear back from him at some point tomorrow.”

“Yes- okay,” Clarke said, worrying her lip with her teeth.

Lexa tilted her head, looking at Clarke oddly. “Is something wrong?”

“I have a request,” Clarke blurted out, steeling herself. Her fingertips tapped a fast tempo on her leg.

“What is it?”

Clarke forced her hand to still. “I want to assign Octavia to your personal guard.”

A pause. Then, “What?”

“I want Octavia on your personal guard.”

Lexa sighed. “Clarke, you know my guard is all Trikru.”

“Yes.”

“Octavia is not Trikru.”

“No, she isn't.”

“Then she shouldn't be on my guard, Clarke. I'm sorry.”

Clarke frowned. “It’s an outdated tradition. You know that action will speak volumes, and I promise you, Octavia won't cross you. I trust her with my life.”

“Trust has to go both ways. I can’t be the one giving something up every time. You need to meet me halfway,” Lexa said.

“You’re not giving anything up. What I’m suggesting puts one of my best warriors directly in your service,” Clarke said, gritting her teeth now. Why couldn't Lexa just accept her damn offer to help?

“You're trying to aim a highly dangerous weapon at my back. I don't expect you to understand that, because we're not the same. I grew up a Natblida. I cannot blindly put my faith in people I do not know, Clarke. The future of the Coalition depends on it.”

“That's no excuse-”

“No, Clarke. You were raised in the safety of your little Azgeda town with your family and friends constantly at your side. I was raised with a knife in my hand and the knowledge that my friends might eventually kill me for the title I now hold.”

Faintly, Clarke noticed a faint film of red crawling at the edges of her vision, but her attention was occupied by the dark tendril of rage rising in her chest. All she could think of was her own mother, floating her father and anyone else who stepped out of line. The first five years of her life on the ground, more blood and cold and unspeakable monstrosities than she could name.

She stood slowly, fists trembling in anger. When she spoke, her voice was low. “Just because you know where I’m from, doesn't mean you know me. Do not make assumptions about what I've seen and what I've done. You do _not_ know who I am.”

Lexa looked vaguely vexed, rising with Clarke and glaring at her for a moment. She turned on her heel, passing through the door and out the room without another word.

\-----

The next day, the messenger didn’t arrive. Clarke starting to get worried. She told the guards at the gate to send for her immediately when the man returned, but nobody had contacted her. Raven was busy terrorizing the city, and Octavia had disappeared somewhere. As such, Clarke was stuck with the boys. Bellamy was trying to read a book - keyword, trying - and Geran was investigating the balcony as if he expected a disgruntled Trikru warrior to climb 58 stories in an attempt to harm Clarke.

Finally, Clarke blew out a large breath. “The messenger’s not back yet. He should be back by now.”

Bellamy looked up from the book. “It’s been a couple extra hours, Clarke. The guy probably stopped somewhere to take a nap.”

“No. He’s one of Heda’s scouts. He doesn’t stop to rest.”

Bellamy sighed. “Why are you so worried, Clarke? It’s a messenger.”

“I don’t want to screw this up,” Clarke said, running her hands through her hair. “I really don’t want to screw this up. I mean, what if Nia uses this as the opportunity to break from the Coalition and decided to flay the guy? She could send him back impaled on a spit or something. I don’t want to be stuck here when all hell breaks loose.”

Geran’s voice floated inside, “Nia won’t do that, Clarke. She knows that right now, most of the other clans would ally with Heda if she tried to attack.”

“Then where the hell is he?” Clarke growled.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Relax. Murphy probably kidnapped the guy back in Toron and made him stay an extra night to gamble or something.”

“Are you serious?”

Bellamy shrugged. “Murphy’s weird.”

Geran poked his head in from behind a gauzy curtain. “Bellamy’s right, General. You shouldn’t worry. He’ll be here when you wake up tomorrow morning.”

\-----

The messenger wasn’t there when Lexa woke up the next morning. She was tired of waiting on pesky Azgeda and their irksome General. In the back of her brain, something more logical assured her that it wasn’t Azgeda’s fault - okay, Nia could technically have something to do with it - but there was no reason to take it out on Clarke. Regardless, she spent the morning brooding in her throne room, concocting innumerable plans to storm into the General’s room and demand answers.

The truth was, she wasn’t used to anyone challenging her like Clarke had. Titus had his occasional moments, but in the end he knew when to shut his mouth. The blonde Azgeda, on the other hand, was far too self-righteous for someone from a clan of killers.

Lexa grew up separated from the other children, taught to spar instead of play. From birth, she had been taught that wild displays of emotion, like the General’s, were a sign of weakness. She had learned the same lesson, firsthand, from Costia’s death. Yet, Clarke still faced the world baring her heart on her sleeve and seemed… altogether, unaffected. Lexa had seen glimpses of something darker underneath, maybe, but it was obvious to Lexa the young General hadn’t faced obstacles anywhere near comparable to what she had faced. But the woman was still so unbelievably open. It didn’t make sense.

Lexa didn’t like what she couldn’t understand. Everything was analytical, cold, logical with her. Emotional and unpredictable made her uncomfortable.

Lexa growled to herself while dipping her fingers in the black paint by the chipped mirror and spreading it around her eyes in broad strokes. With the color came the mask of calm slamming down over her senses.

She fastened her cape over her shoulder and emerged from the wide double doors of the tower a few minutes later with Gustus trailing by her side. Marching to the city’s outer gate, the crowd parted around her until soon she stood by the city’s outer defenses, warriors on guard standing a bit taller in her presence.

She stared down the forested path leading out of the city as if the messenger would suddenly appear out of thin air to deliver Nia’s signature. Her concentration was broken, however, by the crunch of gravel underfoot and wisps of a whispered argument from behind her.

She turned to see Clarke, accompanied by Raven, trudging down the path with arms crossed. The General’s shoulders tensed when she made eye contact with Lexa.

“What are you doing here, Clarke? Raven,” Lexa greeted, voice neutral besides her exasperation from earlier in the morning.

“We’re just out for a walk,” Clarke said, shrugging her shoulders.

From beside her, Raven rolled her eyes. “Yeah, no. Clarke’s all worked up because the messenger’s a day and a half late, so she dragged me out here.”

“Seriously, Raven?”

Raven ignored Clarke, addressing Lexa still. “Your scout’s not the best, is he?”

Lexa frowned, but before she could say anything, Clarke was grabbing Raven’s arm in an iron hold and tugging her harshly to the side. Although she turned her head away, she could still catch glimpses of their conversation.

Raven was whispering impassionately. “Just because we’re working together doesn’t mean I have to like her. She killed Finn.”

“No, working together means you have to work together. Which you can’t do if you try to bite off her head every time you see her.”

“I don’t care! Finn loved me. And he cared about you, Clarke.”

“Which is why we need to work with the Commander so that misunderstandings like this never happen again.”

“A misunderstanding. That wasn’t a misunderstanding!” Raven snarled, outraged.

It went back and forth for a while before Clarke finally shook her head, exasperated, and cut Raven off in the middle of her rant. “Operation Pineapple, Raven.”

“Are you seriously bringing that up right now-”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Fine,” Raven said, frowning. She crossed her arms and pointedly looked away from Clarke.

Lexa looked away, tuning out the conversation, and the next thing she knew, Clarke was standing at her side.

“Sorry about that. Raven really knows how to hold a grudge,” Clarke said, addressing Lexa but peering into the forest herself.

Lexa looked over her shoulder to see Raven slouching, some feet away, just out of hearing distance. The woman leveled a dark glare towards her. Lexa turned back around, unaffected.

“I’m not sure she’s the only one,” Lexa retorted, chin held high. She couldn’t help herself. She knew it was petty, but her pride was still wounded from a few days prior.

Clarke slowly turned her eyes from the shady path to Lexa. The brunette was stone under her judgemental gaze. Finally, the blonde spoke. “No, you don’t let go of your grudges very easily, do you?”

Lexa opened her mouth to retort, but Clarke cut her off before she was able.

“Look, I don’t usually apologize, especially when I’ve done nothing wrong, but I have a feeling that you’re even worse off in that field than I am. I’m only doing this out of respect for the fact that we have to work together for the next twelve months.”

Lexa continued to stare evenly into the undergrowth. This aggressive, abrasive nature was exactly why she disliked the General in the first place.

Clarke continued, “I won't be saying this again, so listen closely. I was serious when I told Raven that we need to work together. We may not agree on everything, but it’s in our best interest to get along. So I’m going to put honest effort into learning to respect you and work well with you and I hope you’ll do the same.”

Well, that was decidedly not what Lexa expected. Suddenly, it wasn’t as easy to conquer up anger towards the blonde. She was upset with the situation and Nia, sure, but she hadn’t meant for that to bleed into her relationship with Clarke, one of the few people who actually seemed to care enough to put significant work into the new treaty so far.

A bit thrown off, Lexa turned to the blonde. “You’re right. I hope we can put aside some of those differences and focus on what really matters.”

She studied the side of Clarke’s face, the sharp jawline and burning blue eyes. But when Clarke didn’t reply, Lexa’s attention snapped back to the road before them, following Clarke’s eyes to the figure of the messenger that had just appeared on the horizon.

She felt a large weight lift from her shoulders, one she hadn’t even known was there. With it dissipated the remainder of her anger towards the General and her companions. She supposed Anya was right about stress fueling her frustration, after all.

Beside her, Clarke exploded into motion, charging down the path towards the messenger. Lexa turned fully, quickly realizing something was wrong. The scout was slumped across the neck of his horse, barely steering it. She wasn’t even sure if he was awake. When the animal hit a patch of sunlight, Lexa could see the thick clump of blood matted to its fur beneath the warrior.

Her hand found the hilt of her sword, eyes scanning the trees for the signs of any threat.

“Get a healer!” she yelled, and the alarmed guard to the side broke into a sprint through the city streets.

Shouting orders at the remaining guards to fan out and help her search, she took off down the path towards the horse and its collapsed rider. Quickly sweeping the most obvious hiding places, seeing no motion, she grabbed the horse’s reins and guided it back into the city walls.

Once rider and mount were safely inside, she turned back to grab the large metal handle of the gate and drag it shut behind her, her back rippling with the effort.

“Where the hell is Nyko,” she muttered to herself, turning back to the messenger.

He was on the ground now, Clarke belt over him and drawing out pained grunts. The man was panting, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

Lexa stepped up behind her, panicked, but Raven stuck out an arm to stop her. “Clarke’s a doctor,” the Azgeda warrior explained.

Clarke was a healer? Sure enough, Lexa looked again and Clarke was giving the surrounding crowd calm but firm orders.

“Back away, he needs space. Does anyone have a rag- thank you.”

Clarke chanced a look up, seeing Heda hovering over her shoulder. “Heda, good. His head is going to need stitches. I need some quiet, water...”

Lexa seized control of the situation, surveying the area and the clearest routes around them. She pointed over her shoulder to the guardhouse nearby. “There’s some water in there.”

“Okay. Raven, on three?” Clarke said, scooting around the body to reposition herself.

Raven leaned in to join the blonde, swinging the body up in what was obviously a practiced motion. Lexa couldn’t help but wonder how often Clarke acted as healer.

When the pair lifted the man, he let out a bellow, much louder than before. Lexa could see blood seeping through the fabric Clarke had pushed onto his stomach, coating the blonde’s fingers with the red liquid.

He suddenly focused on Clarke, digging his fingers into her arm and leaving half-crescents from his fingernails. Lexa could see her wince slightly.

“The General- Clarke. Urgent message. Clarke kom Azgeda. Where is she? I need to tell her-” the man said in stuttered gasps before his speech faded into mumbling.

“I’m right here,” Clarke said, “It’s okay. I’m going to fix you up. What’s the matter?”

His feverish murmuring fell silent and a curse fell from Clarke’s lips.

“Damn it. He’s out from the pain. Raven, help me get him inside. Find a second to get me some thread, and Heda, please tell me you have someone on the way to help me with this.”

Nyko choose that moment to arrive. Eyes widening, he rushed to Clarke’s side and took over for her, applying pressure to the wound in his stomach while Clarke maneuvered the body onto a table. She moved around the room with ease, picking through the messy shelves to find anything of use while calling instructions over her shoulder.

“Heda?” a guard called from outside. “We finished our primary search. Nobody found. Would you like us to look again with a larger radius?”

Rage back with a fresh ferocity, Lexa strode outside. This time, however, her anger was directed towards a very different party.

“Send for Anya and Indra. Gustus, we’re going back into the forest to search. I will find the men responsible for this attack and they will suffer.”

She swept into the woods, sword drawn and warriors at her back. She tried to brush Clarke and her patient’s injury to the back of her mind, but some lagging thought told her she may have initially misjudged the blonde warrior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Time:**  
>  Someone wakes up. Bad news is delivered. And someone loses their goddamn mind.


	5. We Are Bloodstained, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot second since I posted the last chapter. Sorry? I have lots of excuses, I promise.
> 
> *dramatic movie voice*  
> Previously on Ice's Champion...  
> After crash landing in Azgeda territory and surviving Nia's wrath, Clarke finds herself an Azgeda General in Polis, sent to work out a treaty with Lexa & Co. after a skirmish at the border. Tensions are high between the Trikru and Azgeda officials, even though Clarke doesn't want to pick another fight with Nia already on her hands.  
> When we last saw them, Clarke and Lexa had taken a break from arguing long enough to draft a treaty that would allow Azgeda warriors the honor of guarding the Polis for the year. When the messenger returns to Polis after delivering the treaty to Nia, he is injured and loses consciousness after demanding to see Clarke. Lexa sends out a search party to find the attackers while Clarke tries to save the man's life.

Night had fallen, and Lexa had gotten nowhere. After hours of scouring the woods, sweeping in larger and larger circles around the city, the only new information came in the form of a second set of horse tracks that disappeared into the river a mile away.

Now, the only certainty was that the guilty party had escaped.

Since the hoofprints were headed toward Trishana before disappearing, she sent a few warriors in that direction, but she wasn’t optimistic. Anyone with half a brain would know to double back to throw any pursuers off the trail.

She was exhausted from searching throughout the evening and not at all ready to return to the tower. So, she sat on a fallen log just outside the city walls, head tilted back to take in the glittering constellations and the gentle humming of the bugs and the cool air on her bare throat.

These past few days since General Clarke had arrived were… surprising. She didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t this short, blonde warrior. She supposed she expected someone like the royal family – cold and detached, showing no emotion except contempt or occasionally even glee at someone else’s misfortune. But the General was _fiery_ , whether it be a passionate argument, a sly joke, or her own diligent work.

Lexa didn’t know if Clarke made things easier or more difficult. On one hand, Lexa could understand the woman, which made it easier for them to work together. But on the other, Clarke was so, so stubborn and Lexa constantly found herself pushed to compromise on another thing entirely.

It would have been easier, she decided, if Clarke hadn’t come to Polis. She wouldn’t have been inspired to let Azgeda guard the capital, and the messenger wouldn’t have been sent back to Toron and attacked. It would have been easier, yes – but not better. Lexa had the chance to win back parts of Azgeda, bind their loyalties more firmly to the Coalition as the warriors made their home in Polis. Nia and her biases wouldn’t live forever, but she hoped the Coalition would.

Lexa was dragged out of her thoughts by light boots crunching the grass beside her. She didn’t turn her head as Clarke on her left, leaning her back up against the log.

It was quiet for a moment as Lexa felt Clarke’s gaze shift from the stars above to her own profile. “What are you thinking about?” Clarke murmured softly.

Lexa straightened her back as she weighed her response. “The Coalition, the messenger. How it all might play out.”

“Well, I do have an answer for one of those. The messenger’s okay, for now. He’s in a coma. He’ll probably wake up once his body has regained strength in a couple days.”

Lexa turned her head when she felt Clarke’s eyes prickling at her jaw again. The woman’s blue eyes were tired and dried blood crusted her collar.

“This could have repercussions,” Lexa said, careful to keep her voice steady. “For us, not just the attacker. Messengers don’t get attacked like this for no reason.”

“I know.” Clarke sounded resigned to the issue.

Lexa frowned. “You shouldn’t be so accepting of this. Discontent, no matter how small, can foment uprising. That’s a bad sign for your first month in Polis.”

“I know.”

A spike of emotion rose in Lexa’s chest. The General shouldn’t be so flippant, so nonchalant. She had never anticipated this happening, which meant she was unprepared. Lexa was absolved to never be unprepared again.

“Well, General, you don’t seem to show it. If you can’t understand that this is a significant issue-”

“Heda.”

“-that _you_ need to be prepared to deal with-”

“Heda.”

“-then you shouldn’t be here. I can find another head for my guard.”

“ _Lexa_.”

Lexa stopped. It was the first time Clarke had called her by her real name, and it was different. So unlike Titus, barking out demands, or Anya, lecturing her like a second. It made her seem familiar, like she wasn’t from a distant clan that shared a long history of conflict. It made her seem trustworthy.

The blonde continued, “I can tell that you’re worried. I’m worried, too.” A pause. “I feel unbalanced in this new city, and a bit afraid because one of your warriors, who should have been untouchable, came home with a knife in his chest.”

Lexa turned her head quickly, studying the woman beside her. Her face was open, and she looked strangely vulnerable for the first time.

“But I’m confident, too,” Clarke said, her voice steady in the quiet. “I have trust in my people, so I know that I won’t have to face this alone. You don’t have to, either. I’m confident that we can beat this, together.”

 _Together_. Coming from Clarke, it didn’t sound like something to be worried about.

“Alright, Clarke kom Azgeda,” Lexa said, with just a hint of a smile at her lips. “We’ll beat it together.”

\-----

Hours later, after the city had gone to bed, Lilath was striding through the halls, just having finished cleaning one of the spare chambers on the Azgeda floor in preparation for their new arrivals. She was fully intent on heading straight to bed to catch up on sleep- after all, it was quite late, and she’d have to be up early in the morning to attend to the General. But, as she passed the doors to said woman’s chamber, she couldn’t help but overhear the faint muttering from inside. So, she halted, sighing, and backed up the few steps to press her ear to the heavy wooden door.

She held her breath, long moments stretching as she heard nothing. But then there was a thud, and heavy rustling, and she heard the woman speaking again.

“No… no. Costia, no. Stop!”

The sounds faded in and out, but it was much of the same, breached by lengthy bouts of silence. It was clear to Lilath that the General was experiencing some sort of nightmare, kicking around and calling out for _Costia_.

The name sounded familiar; she had heard it thrown around the tower, but she didn’t know much about its owner. She often heard it in relation to Heda, or sometimes even Queen Nia. Whoever it was, Lilath was sure she meant – means? – something important to the General.

She backed up from the door, grumbling to herself. She had really been looking forward to climbing into bed. However, she turned back the way she came, away from her quarters, and instead headed towards Titus’s room. She was overdue to update him, and she really didn’t want any trouble.

She wasn’t afraid of the man, exactly, but she had seen what had happened to those who upset him. She wasn’t sure how she got into this mess, if she had really ever had a choice in the matter. But she told herself that Heda must have ordered it, that it couldn’t really be bad if she was helping the Coalition.

So, she tapped on his door, Titus swinging it open a few minutes later with a disgruntled expression fixed on his face, obviously angry to have been woken. His anger only alleviated slightly when he saw her face, and he gestured her inside with a grunt.

The man settled on a chair, pulling his robes more tightly around him. Lilath sat across from him, a bit tense as she waited for him to speak. But he seemed content to only listen, raising an eyebrow for her to begin.

“I- The General hasn’t discussed anything of note. Or at least, she doesn’t when I’m around.”

Titus didn’t move, but Lilath could practically feel him rolling his eyes. “Often, the best spies aren’t seen,” he said dryly.

Lilath frowned. “She’s very observant. It’s not as easy to blend into the background.”

Titus waved his hand. “Regardless, I’m sure you didn’t come here with nothing to tell me. That would be a very poor decision on your part, and I know you’re smarter than that.”

Lilath shifted, trying to hide her discomfort. “No. She seems very close with her captain, Bellamy. If she’d speak with anyone about their plans, it would be him.”

“What’s the nature of their relationship?”

“I’m not quite sure. They do spend a lot of time together, most often in her chambers. They keep the doors closed then, and when I’m in there with them, they stay quiet. He seems able to challenge her, speak outright… but at the end of the day, she’s in charge.”

“Is it possible they have a relationship of a different nature behind closed doors?”

Lilath bit her lip, catching his meaning. “No. She’s referred to him as her brother before. I’m not sure if she means it in the literal sense, but they’re from the same village, Ark, so it could be possible.”

“Anything else?”

Lilath hesitated for a moment but nodded. “Yes. I just passed by and she was having a nightmare.”

Titus snorted. “That’s not unusual. Although I suppose it proves she’s human enough to feel _some_ guilt for the horrors she’s committed on the battlefield.”

“No, this was different. She kept calling out somebody’s name. Costia?”

Titus stiffened, his nonchalant attitude falling away a moment before he caught himself. “Costia? You’re absolutely sure?” he asked, voice charged with an underlying tone of something she couldn’t place.

Lilath agreed, wondering just what she had just gotten herself into. “I’m sure. Who exactly is Costia?”

Titus looked trapped in thought, glaring intently at the ceiling. He snapped out of it after a moment, ushering her towards the door. “That’s not important for you to know. Keep me updated, especially if she mentions Costia again.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

He slammed the door in her face.

\-----

The next morning, Clarke wound through the halls of the tower, Bellamy following closely at her heels. It had been two days since the messenger collapsed at the gates. Although the man was in a stable condition, healing now, he hadn’t woken up.

Clarke was concerned. She knew the man would eventually open his eyes, but something didn’t feel right. Before he collapsed, when he demanded to see the General, there was real fear in his voice. This wasn’t a feverish hallucination. Something was very, very wrong.

As a result, she was starting to get antsy. The whole kumbaya, we’ll-fix-it-together attitude from a few days prior was now lost on her.

“I just spoke with Indra,” Bellamy spoke up, catching her attention.

Clarke dipped her head even as she continued walking, a sign for him to continue.

“They still don’t know for sure who attacked the guy. It’s starting to look like he was pretty far from Polis when he was jumped,” he said.

“Great,” Clarke grit out.

“The Commander’s been keeping it quiet, but some of her advisors think Azgeda’s to blame.”

Clarke stopped in the middle of the hall, turning to face Bellamy and throwing her hands up into the air. “What, are they seriously biased enough to believe that he managed to hang onto his horse, _in that condition_ , for the two-day journey back to Polis?”

“It’s mostly the Fleimkepa who’s been speaking out...” Bellamy said through a frown.

Clarke sighed, picking up her pace once more. “He knows as well as the rest of us that Nia signed the treaty. Injured messenger or not, the letter was in his bag. Nia’s already agreed to the terms and if she wanted to attack someone- we’d know it was her. Her warnings aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that this needs to be resolved before half our army arrives. If this hasn’t been cleared up by then, we’ll have a lot more to worry about.”

Clarke didn’t respond, coming to an abrupt halt in front of an unmarked door, nodding to the single warrior standing guard outside.

She moved to enter but was blocked by Bellamy’s strong arm on her shoulder.

“Clarke,” he said. “I know you’re worried, but the messenger hasn’t woken up the last five times you visited, and he won’t wake up this time either. As soon as he’s up, someone will send for you. You have other things to worry about.”

Clarke turned to face him, folding her arms across her chest. “He asked for me, Bellamy. I can visit as many times as I’d like.”

Bellamy looked ready to storm off, but instead let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll be waiting here when you decide to make conversation with someone who can talk back.”

He leaned against the arch marking the doorway, crossing his legs. Clarke rolled her eyes and strode through the door, making a beeline for the bed in the furthermost left corner. It was a small room, lacking in decorations, but it was private and quiet. The pale messenger was stretched across the bed, the same position as the last time Clarke had visited. And the time before that. And the time before that.

She pulled a chair from the wall and dragged it to the side of his bed, sitting in it backwards to prop her chin up on its back. She took a moment to survey the man, his head wrapped in a bandage and another hidden beneath his white shirt.

“You know, it would be great if you hadn’t made such a big deal about seeing me two days ago,” she said into the silence. “If that were the case, I probably wouldn’t feel so helpless.”

It felt stupid, talking to an unconscious man. But her mother had taught her long ago, back on the Ark, that sometimes speaking could pierce through the shroud of sleep. And she really wanted the guy to wake up.

“I know you were just doing your job,” she continued. She shifted her weight on the chair and closed her eyes. “You know, delivering messages and all that. But you kinda forgot the message this time.”

She blinked open one eye and was surprised to find another set of eyes staring back at her. She jumped up from the chair, tipping it over in her haste, and hovered over the man.

“You’re awake? Can you hear me?” she said, pressing her hand to his wrist to take his pulse. It came faster now, no longer the sluggish, slow beat that had characterized the coma.

He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a dry cough. Clarke pushed a glass of water into his hands.

After a long sip, he tried again. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe now. You were attacked after visiting Azgeda. What do you remember?” Clarke pushed.

After another sip of water and a moment to get his bearings, he answered. “I was riding back from Toron. I was almost at the border,” the man said, his eyes growing distant as he struggled to think.

Clarke watched as the messenger’s eyes widened and he shot up in the bed. “I remember. I-I need to speak with General Clarke kom Azgeda.”

Clarke pushed him back down into the blankets and picked up the cup he had dropped in alarm. “I’m Clarke. What’s wrong?”

“There were Trikru in the Azgeda village. I passed their camp on the way to your capital and they wanted to know what news I was bringing to Toron. They weren’t very happy to hear about the treaty.”

Clarke’s eyebrow furrowed her eyebrows. “So they attacked you?”

“No. Not then, anyway. They let me pass, but on the way back they had occupied the Azgeda village, taken hostages. They told me to tell you-”

“Tell me what?”

“They said Azgeda- you, specifically- were corrupting the Coalition. They want Azgeda out, and you dead. They want you to turn yourself in.”

Clarke snorted. “Yeah, okay, let me mosey on down there with my army and I’ll take care of it.”

“General, they’re killing the hostages.”

It felt like someone suddenly thrust a knife through Clarke’s chest. She couldn’t breathe. “What?”

“They said that they would kill one every night, until you showed up, alone, to surrender.”

The knife twisted. Painfully. “What? No. But- it took you a day to get back, and you’ve been out for two. That’s three days.”

The man swallowed. “I’m so sorry, General. Please, don’t tell...”

His voice was drowned out, garbled and confusing, like Clarke was trying to listen to him underwater. There was a thumping in her ears. Her toes went numb, then the sensation crawled up her legs and flashed through her arms until she couldn’t feel the stabbing in her chest or anything at all.

The world sped up around her, drab colors from around the room starting to swirl around in her head until nothing made sense around her. She was watching herself from above now. The messenger was continuing to plead, his ramblings falling on deaf ears. Her hands were shaking. She commanded them to stop. They stopped.

She was back in her body and everything came into sharp, cold focus. Without another word, she spun on her heel and slammed through the door, startling Bellamy and the other guard.

“Clarke?” Bellamy asked, seeing the wild look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke ignored him, turning her attention to the warrior on guard. “Go down to the stables and get my horse ready to ride. Bellamy will take over this post for you. Be quick. Do not speak of this to anyone.”

“General-”

“Now!” Clarke yelled, slamming her hand against the doorframe.

The warrior scattered down the hall. Bellamy stepped in front of her, looking incredulous.

“Clarke? Did he wake up? What the hell’s going on?” he asked.

She needed to pull herself together. She needed to act, now. When she spoke again, her voice was surprisingly steady, calm. “Bellamy, I need you to stay here and guard the room. Don’t let anybody in unless you have to. I need you to stall for me.”

“No, you need to tell me what just happened in there,” he said, gesturing forcefully towards the door.

“Bell, please. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Just trust me on this one.”

He ran his hand through his hair, starting to pace. “Clarke, just tell me. I can help.”

“Please. I’ll handle it.”

He stared at her.

“Bellamy!”

“Fine,” he said finally, crossing his arms and taking up the other guard’s position. “I trust you, Clarke. But please, don’t make me regret this.”

“Thank you,” she exhaled. She turned and walked slowly down the hall, timing her footsteps to her heartbeat to stop herself from breaking out into a run. As soon as she was out of Bellamy’s line of sight, she bolted.

Whizzing into her room moments later, she grabbed her white coat and threw it on, checking its interior pockets for her knives and sliding extras into her clothing.

Minutes later, she was running, full tilt, to the stables. She offered a gruff thanks to the guard dutifully waiting with her horse. Then, she told him to scram and keep his mouth shut.

She swung her leg over her horse’s back and navigated through the streets of Polis, soon breaking off into a full gallop towards the Azgeda village. Tonight, blood would spill.

\-----

It was nearing nightfall when Clarke yanked on her horse’s reins, pulling him to a halt on a pined ridge overlooking the village in the distance. The town, usually calm and quiet, was illuminated by the glow of a bonfire, revealing a host of dark figures sitting around the flame. Instead of quiet, the night was full of gruff laughter, the harsh syllables of Trigedasleng.

The change in the village was obvious. The invaders weren’t hiding.

Clarke fastened her horse to a nearby tree, patting his nose and whispering that she’d be back soon. His breath came fast, heavy, a sign of the intense pace she’d set on the way there.

She ruffled the fur around her neck, pulling off her coat despite the frost characterizing the north. She was in her element. She folded the white coat carefully over her horse’s back, more comfortable in the black leathers underneath now that it was dark. Rolling her neck once more, flexing her wrists against the cool metal hidden up her sleeves, she started down the slope, crouching behind the rough bark shielding the ridge.

Once out of the tree line, on open land, she dove to the ground to avoid a Trikru sentry passing by, warned by the soft crunch of the grass following his feet. When he had passed, she stood again, toeing her way through the frost-tipped undergrowth on silent feet.

This was Azgeda, her home. She knew how to move without giving herself away.

She reached the village’s edge, sticking to the dark corners of the houses on the perimeter.

Clarke knelt behind an empty wagon, watching the figures around the fire through narrowed eyes. Where were they keeping the villagers hostage? After a few moments of searching, she let out a hiss when she noticed a torch-bearing warrior emerging from a larger hut across the camp, revealing a room packed with scared faces before the door swung shut behind him.

She moved around the village’s edges once more, avoiding the firelight as she inched closer to the house with the hostages. She passed the entrance at the village front, biting back the bile rising in her throat at three particularly small figures limply hanging from the post with a sign spelling out “Welcome.” She had to look away.

Ducking behind small hills and underbrush, she jumped a fence to start into the village, drawing closer and closer to the hut housing the hostages.

She was only two houses away, hiding in the shadows under the abandoned window, when she heard two gruff voices passing by.

“Do you even think she’s gonna show?” asked the first.

“Arsen knows what he’s doing. Personally, I don’t think a little killing will thaw the bitch’s heart, but it would look bad if she didn’t come, right? ‘Diplomacy’ is what those idiots parading around the capital call it,” answered the second.

“I’m just saying it’s been three days. Did the message even get there?”

“Arsen sent someone to watch the messenger. The General dragged him and his horse into Polis. She got the message.”

Clarke stood, ready to inch back around to the other side of the cabin.

“Which one are we hanging tonight? I heard it was that annoying-”

Clarke stepped on a branch. The crack was faint, but it pierced the night and resonated through the empty space between the houses.

The two warriors froze. “Did you hear that?”

“It came from over here, around the back.”

One man came rushing around the house towards the sound moments later, skidding to a halt when he found nobody there. His partner circled the other side, also turning up empty-handed. From inside the house’s open window, Clarke watched the pair drop their hands from the weapons hanging at their belts.

One of them scratched his head. “I swore it sounded like someone was there.”

The other shrugged. “Probably a fox or something.”

Suddenly Clarke slammed forward after a blow to the back, her head striking the windowsill. Groaning, she turned to see a third warrior who had been sitting in the hut the entire time. She held up an arm to fend off a second blow, but her vision was swimming and her feet felt unsteady beneath her.

When he grinned, his lips curled back to reveal jagged teeth. “There are no foxes this far north,” he yelled out to the other two Trikru deserters outside. “But there are wolves.”

He elbowed Clarke in the nose, grabbing her roughly when she slumped to the ground, blood streaming from her face. He shouldered the door open and dragged her out into the streets.

“Also, those footprints in the snow aren’t exactly fox-sized,” her attacker grumbled, glaring at the two others. When they didn’t move, his tone grew more bitter. “Give me a hand, will you?” he grunted towards the two shocked warriors. “We have a special delivery for Arsen.”

Clarke stared at the stars above as her hands were bound and she was jostled through camp on the backs of her enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger. To make it up to you, I've already written the second part to this chapter. I'll post it within a few days!
> 
> Kudos! Comments! Virtual hugs!


	6. We Are Bloodstained, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When last we saw Clarke, she had run straight into Arsen's clutches! Silly Clarke.
> 
> Dear readers, this chapter's a little more violent. Not like, 'wow, that was absolutely and truly horrid, I need to go scrub my eyes,' but like, 'okay, no major qualms about blood and death.' I'm assuming nobody's gonna lose their lunch, since we all saw the mountain post-radiation, a field of charred Grounders, and a whole lot more - acid fog, anyone? - but don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
> Enjoy!

Lexa wasn’t having a good day. One of her lieutenants had come to her making excuses about not having enough space for the incoming Azgeda troops, and it had taken the better part of the morning to knock some sense into his thick skull. If he hadn’t proven his worth on the battlefield, he’d probably be laying in a ditch somewhere for his obstinacy.

The trail had gone cold when it came to the attack on the messenger. The Trishana lead was a dead end. Although she assured her worried advisors otherwise, she had no idea who had orchestrated the event.

So, when she stormed down the hall, Lexa could be forgiven for her bad mood. It was understandable, even, that she felt the need to take it out on someone. When she saw Bellamy on post outside the recovery room, she couldn’t keep in her scathing remark about a lazy guard position being typical for an Azgeda captain.

Bellamy straightened, his eyes flashing angrily. “Can I help you with anything, Heda? Or did you only come down here to insult me?”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lexa thought it refreshing to be challenged. Nobody in their right mind ever called the Commander into question. A much louder, antagonized part of her brain, however, found him rash and rude. Much like the lieutenant she had dealt with earlier.

“I have my reasons, but it certainly was not to pointlessly bicker with you. Where is General Clarke?”

Bellamy’s eyes darted to the side for the tiniest fraction of a second. “She’s out.”

“I’ll need you to be more specific.”

“Clarke had an errand to run. She’ll be back soon. Would you like me to give her a message?”

Lexa noticed his demeanor shift, suddenly politer, as if he was trying to distract her. The General was planning something, and Bellamy was in on it, she was sure.

“Where did she go?” Lexa demanded, her tone leaving no room for question.

Bellamy frowned. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Yes. I don’t know where she went,” Bellamy said, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Lexa’s temples ached. It looked like she’d have to add ‘ _missing, probably spying, Azgeda General’_ to her list of things to worry about.

“How’s our messenger doing?” she asked, instead of berating him for his lack of information like she really wanted.

“All quiet,” Bellamy replied, clearing his throat lightly.

Lexa nodded. “You’ll notify me when he wakes?”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

\-----

Clarke blinked rapidly to adjust her eyes to the dim light in the wooden house. She was dumped onto the ground unceremoniously and given a sharp kick to the ribs to force her onto her knees. She sneered up at the face looming before her, one long scar running down the left cheek.

“Arsen, we caught the General sneaking around the back,” reported the man who brought her in.

Arsen, evidently the leader, was surprisingly young. His blond hair was shaggy, uneven at the ends, and he wore it slicked back with grease. He had a square jaw, giving him an entitled look, but he still could have been handsome if not for the cruel frown marring his features.

Clarke lifted her chin, determined to remain some dignity. She’d have to bargain with the man. Stall. “Arsen, I’ve come to talk with you about this mess.”

The man stared at her intently. Just when Clarke thought he wouldn’t speak, he tilted his head to the side and flashed his teeth in a crooked grin. “Really? It looked to me like you were creeping through my camp.”

“My camp,” Clarke muttered.

“What?”

“ _My_ camp. Azgeda territory doesn’t belong to you, nor do the people.”

Arsen just shrugged. “From where I’m standing, that’s not what it looks like.”

Clarke grunted. Her wrists burned from where the rope rubbed raw against her skin. She could probably get out if she just kept him talking.

“What does it look like, then, from your twisted point of view?”

Arsen’s playful façade fell, a shadow crossing his face. “It looks like you’ve wormed your way into Heda’s head, forcing her to align us with our age-old enemies. Azgeda has never brought us anything but pain, and I see no reason why now, we have to embrace that.”

“So, your solution was to take over a village? Are you planning an invasion or something? No offense, but this isn’t the most strategic base of operations,” Clarke retorted unaffectedly. She could feel the knot around her wrists loosening.

“Oh, no, General. My solution is to take the head of the snake behind the whole mess. Once you’re dead, Heda will realize the treaty was a mistake. And eventually, we will remove Azgeda from the Coalition altogether.”

Clarke was starting to realize that this guy was a bit smarter than she’d originally assumed. She’d pegged him as a shortsighted, egotistical maniac. He was still insane, no doubt, but he wasn’t blindly lashing out. “I’m not looking for trouble, Arsen. Let’s sit down like civilized people and talk this out.”

“Ah, but talking’s how this whole thing started, General. There will be no more of that,” he responded, turning away to pace across the floor.

As his back turned, Clarke felt the last loop fall off her wrists. She exploded off the floor, sliding a dagger from her sleeve and sliding it into the jugular of the guard at the door before he could register her movement. He let out a strangled cry of alarm, cueing three others to rush into the room. Arsen turned in time to see Clarke stab another, ducking under a punch before she was overwhelmed by the sheer bulk of it all in such an enclosed space.

He glared at the two limp bodies. “You idiots didn’t take her weapons?”

Clarke was shoved completely onto the floor, hard hands stripping her body of all blades. These Trikru guards might be fools, but they were thorough in their search. Clarke felt her stomach sink when she realized that she was, in fact, weaponless. Her hands were bound behind her back again, more tightly this time.

Arsen sighed, striding back across the room to take a seat as if she were a mere inconvenience. “We’ll take care of you at dawn tomorrow. It’ll send a nice message. A thousand cuts befits a murderer of your rank.”

Clarke’s cheek was pressed into the dirt, but she spit out through clenched teeth, “My people will come for me. And there’ll be hell to pay.”

Arsen opened his mouth to respond but was cut off when another warrior shoved into the room. “Arsen, we found the General’s horse up on the hill. There was nothing but her coat, and the saddle bag was empty except for a bottle of wine. She’s alone. There’s nobody else nearby.”

Arsen turned back to Clarke and raised an amused eyebrow. “What was that you were saying about your rescuers, General?” He turned back to the warrior and his grin grew sickly. “What was this wine for, celebrating your jailbreak?”

Though the question was largely rhetorical, Clarke jumped in. “A gesture of my good faith, a gift. I was going to suggest that we drink it together as we discussed a solution, but now I’d prefer to use it to club you over the head a few times.”

Arsen just laughed. “A gift, obviously! One you left behind, instead choosing to sneak around like a common thief. I can see your intentions quite clearly. No matter, I think we can put it to better use.” He nodded to himself, satisfied, and turned to address one of the men at the door. “Go pass this bottle around the circle. We’ll enjoy our own little taste of victory before we put the General out of her misery.”

The warrior took back the offered bottle, a smile splayed across his face. Arsen bound Clarke to a chair in the corner, then wiggled his fingers in farewell before leaving the hut.

Clarke tensed her shoulders. The ties wouldn’t give. Under the heavy stares of the two warriors standing guard by the door, there was nothing she could do. Nothing but wait.

\-----

The next time Lexa passed Bellamy in the hall, he wasn’t alone. No, she was drawn to the corridor by loud yelling, to find Clarke’s bodyguard practically foaming at the mouth. He waved his arms wildly, pushing into the Captain’s personal space. He looked ready to shove the other man when Lexa stepped into earshot.

“You have _no_ idea where she went? She’s been gone for hours!” Geran bellowed.

Bellamy’s jaw was locked, his arms crossed.

“Do you have _nothing_ to say?” Geran continued when he didn’t respond.

“I’m following orders. I don’t have to like it, but Clarke has her reasons.”

Geran growled. “She was attacked twice on the way here! You know she has too many enemies in this territory.”

“One and a half times. The second one didn’t really count.”

The bodyguard was opening his mouth again to retort when Lexa strode down the hallway, coming to stop between the two men. “What’s going on here?”

Bellamy stiffened and gave Geran a pointed glare. “Nothing, Heda.”

The bodyguard was pointedly silent.

“Do not make me ask again,” Lexa said, patience waning. If Azgeda was up to something…

Geran blew out a breath, looking to Bellamy for a moment, before beginning to speak. “General Clarke has been missing for five hours. Bellamy refuses to tell me where she went.”

Bellamy’s eyes were dark with anger now. “I don’t know where she went! She told me to sit and guard the door!”

The door? _The door._ The messenger was awake. Had been awake, for some hours, it seemed.

Lexa shoved him aside, opening the door to find the warrior asleep on the bed. She wasted no time in crossing the floor to shake him awake.

“Wha..? Heda!”

The man quickly got over his shock, filling them in on the rest of the story. By the end, Lexa’s lips were pressed together tightly, Geran was clenching his fists, and Bellamy had gone pale.

Geran turned to Bellamy slowly. “You let Clarke turn herself in to those- those-” He couldn’t seem to find a description suitable enough for his rage.

Bellamy was muttering to himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck!”

Was the General really stupid enough to run to the enemy? Probably. Lexa already knew that Clarke had a bleeding heart, and it seemed that an over-eagerness to act came with the package. This day was quickly turning into a political nightmare.

If Clarke died, Lexa was in trouble. Nia would reign terror and call it justice, especially with her army currently marching to the capital… and Lexa respected the General, loath as she was to admit it. The woman was a fearless leader and a formidable warrior. Had they not stood on opposite sides of the clan border, they likely could’ve been friends.

“Shut up!” she roared, when she realized Geran and Bellamy were arguing, _yet again_. Useless fools. She couldn’t understand why Clarke kept them around. “We’re leaving now. If you’re not ready with my warriors in ten minutes, you will be left behind.”

With that, she swept out of the room to raise hell.

\-----

Clarke counted to 576 before the screaming started.

Still bound to the chair, unable to move, she simply laid her head back and started counting the seconds.

The endless coughing started just after 300 seconds, then came the gasping and wheezing at 378. The Trikru outside started yelling across the camp in confusion around 422, and their panic only grew as Clarke counted higher. But at 576 seconds, when shouting peaked and broke into true unbridled fear, the raw screaming began.

When Arsen slammed open the door, face contorted in horror, Clarke understood. It wasn’t the injured who were screaming, because they couldn’t get enough air into their lungs to produce anything louder than a choked whimper. It was those around them, watching their comrades suddenly fall to the ground and claw at their necks, who were screaming.

“What did you do?” the man demanded, crossing the floor in a stride and slamming his hands onto the chair, shoving it back a few feet.

Clarke lifted her head slowly, regarding him coolly. “What do you mean? Is something wrong?”

“You crazy bitch, I know full well you must have poisoned that bottle of wine.”

Clarke shrugged. “Why would I poison my perfectly good wine? I think you’re mistaken.”

“Give me the antidote.”

Clarke blew out a breath, allowing her head to fall back on the chair again. “Where’s the fun in that? You didn’t drink any, did you?” She blinked open one eye, regarding him lazily.

“No! All my warriors did, you Azgeda scum. I will slit your throat.”

Clarke only lifted an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that already the plan?”

Arsen drew his knife in a flash and held it against her throat, watching small beads of red appear beneath the blade. “I know you aren’t as cool and collected as you let on, General. Give me the antidote or I’ll make it long and painful.”

Clarke pursed her lips, considering. “It’s in my coat,” she finally let out.

Arsen practically dove across the room, yanking open Clarke’s coat to reveal rows upon rows of tiny vials carefully fitted into stripes of fabric sown into the inside lining. He ripped a few out, the glass clattering to the floor loudly.

“Woah, careful there,” Clarke bit out. “It took ages to organize that. Oh, and you might mix up the antidote with something uglier.”

Arsen froze, his hand hovering over the jacket. “Which one is it?”

“Untie me, and I’ll show you.”

Arsen bit his lip, eyes glazed over with fanaticism now. “Nice try. Where is it?”

Clarke yawned. “I can’t quite remember.”

The knife flew from his hand and embedded itself into the leg of the chair inches from Clarke’s skin. She didn’t flinch. “Where is it?” Arsen repeated. “Is it this one?”

“Yes,” Clarke started, watching as the man tore the vial out of a pocket.

He stood up, ready to storm from the room.

“-If you want to add a nasty rash to the mix,” Clarke finished.

Arsen dropped the mixture like it was hot, turning to Clarke with a maddened look on his face. “If you don’t show me the antidote right now, a thousand cuts will sound like a mercy compared to what I have in store for you.”

“How about the innocents you strung up outside? Was that a mercy, too?”

Arsen clenched his fists. “That was a necessary evil. I regret nothing.”

Clarke just clenched her teeth, pushing down her anger.

“Well? This is the last time I’ll ask nicely. Which of these damn potions will reverse the poison?”

“I lied. There’s no antidote,” Clarke said calmly.

“What? You- bitch! No!”

Clarke felt the sharp sting of the knife against her leg and knew that she had successfully cut through the rope at her feet with the blade Arsen had thrown earlier.

When the larger man dove at her in a fit, poised to slap her, she kicked out with her legs, catching him in the chest and throwing him backwards where he collided with the wall and thudded onto the floor, dazed.

Clarke made quick work of the rest of the ropes, pulling herself to her feet. She slung her jacket back over her shoulders and crouched down next to the groaning form of Arsen. “Well, there was an antidote,” she mused, “but I drank it all before I came. You know, just in case. Sorry about that.”

She patted him on the cheek, slapping her hand down over his wrist as it twisted to his belt to grab his sword. “I’m quite sorry about this,” she said, sounding anything but, “but I need to send a message to traitors like you. I’m sure you understand.”

Arsen just laughed, spit collecting at the corners of his mouth. “Get off your high horse, General. We’re the same, you and I. Both trapped in an endless cycle of killing for the clans we love. Both determined to kill the other so we can send a message – the same exact one! – to our enemies. But here’s the truth, General, I wouldn’t change a thing, and I bet you’d say the same.”

Clarke looked down on him sadly. “The difference between us, Arsen, is that I’m going to kill you quickly. I’m not going to drag it out, because the world will be that much better once you’re gone.”

Arsen just spat on the ground at Clarke’s knees. She continued, “Azgeda may look vulnerable, but I am its chosen protector, and I am strong. I am Ice’s Champion, and I will guard my people with every breath.”

With that, she slid Arsen’s knife into his neck. The blood bubbled as he made a gurgling sound. When his breathing ceased, she coated her fingers in the red liquid, sliding them across her face in Azgeda’s warpaint design. She slipped the blade into her belt and exited the hut.

As she crossed the camp, it was eerily silent. The Trikru rogues’ bodies covered the ground, some surrounded by piles of vomit and others with harsh red lines standing out on their necks from where they had tried to rip out their closing windpipes. The door to the house Clarke had marked as the one holding the hostages creaked open as one Azgeda prisoner poked her head out.

Clarke opened the door more fully, gesturing the villagers out. “It’s okay now. The Trikru are gone.”

The woman who opened the door sighed softly upon seeing the state of the village and the blood streaked across Clarke’s face. “Thank you,” she said simply, laying a hand on Clarke’s shoulder.

The woman limped out of the doorway, pulling a group of silent children behind her. One little girl, about six, stopped at the sight of the fallen warriors and looked up at Clarke with wide eyes. Tugging on the edge of Clarke’s shirt, she whispered up to the General in awe. “Wanheda.”

Clarke swallowed roughly and turned away. “I will help clean up in the morning. But first I need to collect my thoughts.”

Without waiting for the others’ assent, she turned to ridge from which she had entered and sat cross-legged in the snow, just under the gate at the camp’s entrance. For the rest of the night, she sat a silent vigil over the camp, the bodies of Arsen’s victims hanging just in her field of view.

\-----

Lexa sat straight in her saddle, riding hard and fast. She felt more than heard the thunder of the hoofbeats behind her, the repetitive thumping on the ground sending small shock waves up into her saddle as the group raced to the border at a full gallop.

She only brought ten warriors with her: she didn’t have the time to gather a larger number since she wanted to leave Polis as soon as possible, and she couldn’t be responsible for a larger group slowing her down. The General already had too much of a head-start, and judging by Geran’s anxious pace, the blonde warrior had probably already gotten herself into trouble.

True to her word, she had allowed Clarke’s three advisors and the bodyguard to accompany her. With grim satisfaction, she realized that Octavia, the warrior Clarke had offered into her service, was a strong rider and seemed more than capable with the sword at her hip.

Bellamy had spoken very little since the situation came to light, likely replaying the moments over and over in his head. Raven was uncharacteristically silent, too. Despite Lexa’s worries of the woman’s limp slowing the party, the brunette was as quick as she was stubborn, and they made good time.

They broke through the tree-line just as dawn arrived, the sky still mostly dark. She wasted little time in charging down the hill towards the camp. Based on what the messenger said, the rogues were still loyal to Heda and would listen to her. Based on what Bellamy said, she didn’t have any time to waste.

As such, she didn’t take the time to stop and survey the village, to notice the sounds of chatter – hushed and subdued, but present. She saw the children milling about between buildings, but she saw the bloated corpses hanging from the gate first. She didn’t take in the reek of death until she was much, much closer.

Her stomach twisted painfully as the village grew before her, only seeing more and more signs of death. Surely, Clarke couldn’t be dead already. Surely, the Coalition wouldn’t crumble today, as hordes of Azgeda warriors surged into her land in retribution for their General’s death. Surely-

But Lexa pulled hard on the reins when she noticed the slumped figure, sitting cross-legged in the snow, just inside the camp. Her horse braked sharply, and she leapt from its back, noting the woman’s blonde hair. Clarke. Her warriors stopped in a half circle a respectable distance away, watching and awaiting orders.

Lexa was relieved. She took a step forward, but something was wrong. Why wasn’t the General bound? The rogues weren’t so stupid as to leave their prisoner untied… Clarke was slouched, unmoving. She looked tired. She looked _dead_. Was she already too late?

Then, the General lifted her head slowly, the shadows falling from her face, and a flash of emotion shot through Lexa’s chest. She could breathe easier, because the General was _alive_ , and there would be no Azgeda invasion today. But her heart ached, for the General wore blood as warpaint, and she was cold, detached, ruthless.

Lexa froze as Clarke rose to her feet, the wind brushing through her coat, blazing her silhouette across the sky. Red clung to her cheekbones, her forehead, brushed across her skin in even, measured strokes. It was a handprint, the symbol of Azgeda. Her eyes were steely, a raging fire burning within. It was only then that Lexa noted the bodies littering the snow behind her.

The General stood in the gate as if it bore entry to all of Azgeda, as if she was its last guardian. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and weighted, but it carried to all those around her. “The Trikru warriors here attacked this village unprovoked, murdering the innocent in cold blood. So, I ripped them from limb to limb.”

For a beat, nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

She continued, “Let it be known, I will meet with the same force anyone else who attempts an attack on Azgeda. There will be no more warnings. Should anyone wish harm on my people, I will greet them with unconditional death.”

In that moment, Clarke was alien. Lexa had never seen such dark anger on the woman’s face before.

Clarke turned and stepped back into the village, throwing a body of one of the deceased over her shoulder and dragging it to a corner of the camp where a pile was growing. Then, she turned around for another, and another, and another; and the pile grew higher, and higher, and higher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Leave me a comment to tell me what you think!
> 
>  **Next time:**  
>  The aftermath, the consequences, and a closer look at Azgeda. Oh, and Lexa has _a lot_ to say 'bout all this.


	7. We Are Travelers, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been 84 years…  
> I’M SO SORRY! I have an entire book of excuses and a bad track record – buuuut, I also have the next two chapters! So, almost 10,000 words later… forgive me?
> 
> *dramatic movie voice*  
> Previously on Ice's Champion...  
> Shortly after agreeing to become Lexa's Chief of Guard at Polis, Clarke secretly dashes off to a small Azgeda village after hearing that Trikru invaders had taken its people hostage. Much badassery ensues, and she defeats Arsen, the invaders' leader. Lexa is a few hours late to the party, and though she assembles a team (including Bell, Raven, and Octavia), they only arrive to the village after Clarke has painted it red.
> 
> Enjoy! Let me know which part is your favorite in the comments!

The next day, Lexa still didn’t know how to feel. Or rather, maybe she felt too much. She was furious and relieved and, if she was being honest, a second count of furious; and to top it all off, there was the definite sting of betrayal. But she was grateful. Any number of things could have gone wrong, yet here they were – no war, no dead General… if Lexa didn’t know better, she’d call it a miracle.

She had lent her warriors to the village to help clean up. It was odd, the blatant distrust with which the Azgeda villagers watched her army, shifting into something more akin to curiosity by the end of the day. The people here obviously didn’t like armies, but something put them at ease. Maybe it was the presence of General Clarke, newly washed of blood, or the fact that she hadn’t brought a large force to begin with. Regardless, the Azgeda soon got over their apparent fear and started to work alongside her men.

They set out to work, cutting down pine trees from the forested ridge a few hundred yards away and dragging the wood across the field to build a pyre. Lexa watched out of the corner of her eye as Clarke dragged her hand across her forehead, flicking off drops of sweat. The blonde made eye contact with her bodyguard on the other side of the log and said something Lexa couldn’t hear. The beast of a man nodded as Clarke stepped away, back towards the village.

Lexa needed to talk to Clarke, alone, and this seemed as good of a time as any. She waited until Clarke was halfway back to the closest row of buildings before handing off the branch she was carrying to the warrior beside him. She dismissed his alarmed grunt at the weight and took off after Clarke, ignoring Geran’s heavy stare on her neck.

Lexa watched Clarke pause to greet a villager who was dipping his head almost reverently before she disappeared into one of the buildings lining the outside of the town. Lexa had certainly noticed the respect they paid to the General over the past few hours. She couldn’t imagine how frightening it must have been before the Clarke showed up. She couldn’t imagine how frightening it must have been afterward, either.

Lexa still hadn’t talked to Clarke about the incident. All of her information came from the corpses, the sharp scent of poison around their lips. But Lexa figured it was far past time to break the silence between them, so she pushed through the door behind Clarke.

The blonde was facing the far wall, staring into space. She turned, and seeing Lexa, crossed her arms. A defensive position.

“You’re mad,” Clarke said, taking in Lexa’s expression.

“I am,” Lexa replied simply.

“I know I just killed a bunch of your people. I am painfully aware of that fact. But I’m not going to apologize.”

“That’s not-”

Clarke interrupted her. “Whatever your punishment, it’s for me, not Azgeda.”

“You think so highly of me,” Lexa said dryly.

“What?” Clarke asked, voice guarded.

“I’m not mad that you killed them, Clarke.”

“You’re not?” the blonde said slowly.

“No. They broke _my_ Coalition, violated _my_ treaty, and attacked _my_ people.”

Clarke looked dumbfounded. Her mouth hung open slightly and she sucked in a breath as if she wasn’t done arguing yet, but no sound came out. Lexa found it particularly amusing, though she would never admit it.

“So, you don’t care that I killed them all?” Clarke asked slowly.

“Yes and no.”

Clarke frowned. “Care to be more specific?”

“I’m not mad that they’re dead. I’m mad that you got to them first,” Lexa explained. “These are my laws, Clarke, and I need to be the one to enforce them.”

“You- you were going to kill them? But you’re Trikru and they’re Trikru, and-”

Lexa sighed. “You really don’t get this, do you? I don’t care that they’re Trikru, they crossed the border, took a village hostage, and murdered children.”

Clarke just blinked. Finally, she said, “Well, I’m glad there’s at least _one_ person on the same page as me.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Lexa said to Clarke’s rapidly fading smile, “You promised that we’d deal with everything _together_ , and then you went running off to confront a small army without even notifying me that the messenger was awake.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, but it sounded more like a question.

“You will not withhold information or act without my permission again,” Lexa replied, the power of the Heda evident in her voice. “You work for me. And you reflect on me.”

Clarke was silent for a moment, considering. But eventually: “Yes, Heda.”

Lexa allowed a small self-satisfied smile to creep onto her face. Imagine that, the General was actually listening. In theory, at least. Lexa was certain it wouldn't last. She hadn't known Clarke long, but that woman was stubborn. “And Clarke? If you ever decide to go on a suicide mission again, I’ll kill you myself.”

Clarke’s head shot up, her eyes searching Lexa’s. Apparently agreeing with whatever she saw there, she grinned.

Lexa turned to leave, but stopped, a sudden thought crossing her mind. “Clarke?”

“Hmm?”

“Before we go back to Polis, I’d like to visit a few of the villages near the border. It won’t be an official tour, but you were right. I need to treat the clans equally, and that means putting the past behind me.”

Clarke’s smile was wide. “Of course, Heda. I’ll plan a short trip and draw you a map.”

“When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow, midmorning.”

“I will alert my warriors.”

“Lexa. Thank you.”

Lexa just dipped her head and disappeared from the room.

\-----

When stars lit the sky and smoke filled the air, after Clarke had whispered goodbye to the Azgeda people lost, she found Bellamy sitting by a lone campfire. She sat beside him, turned to study his profile in the flickering light.

“How did you know that would work?” Bellamy blurted suddenly, as if he physically couldn’t hold the words back.

“The poison?” Clarke asked in a soft tone. “I’ve seen men like those before, they all have the same arrogance. Once they thought they’d won, they never suspected a thing.”

“You couldn’t have known for sure. What if they didn’t drink the wine?”

Clarke shrugged. “Raven would’ve come in blazing with a grenade or something.”

“Clarke, seriously.”

Clarke’s voice was firm. “Seriously. I trust that you guys have my back. You’re my family. You would’ve saved me.”

Bellamy was silent for a few moments, seemingly content with the answer.

“Bell, did you bring the ink?”

Bellamy frowned, turning to Clarke. “Yeah, Clarke, but-”

Clarke sighed, interrupting him. “I know, I know. But it makes me feel better.”

Bellamy stood and together the two made their way to a cabin at the center of the village. The town had made room since they didn’t have any houses to spare, families bunking together to offer shelter to the warriors from Polis. Clarke and her advisors had one hut, leaving two others to the Trikru warriors brought along by Lexa.

When Clarke and Bellamy reached the cabin, they found Raven and Octavia inside, deep in conversation. They looked up to Clarke, wordlessly exchanged a glance, and made their way towards the door.

“Raven, wait,” Clarke said over her shoulder.

The brunette paused at the doorframe, toeing the door open with her shoe.

“Did you bring any grenades?” Clarke asked, a smile gracing her lips. In front of her, Bellamy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, two,” Raven replied, sounding almost giddy. “Why? We gonna blow something up?”

“Nope,” Clarke said. “Just checking.”

Raven muttered something and slipped from the house. Bellamy just huffed when Clarke shot him a look that clearly said _I told you so_.

Clarke tied her hair up in a bun, clearing it off her neck. It revealed a thick black line of ink trailing down from the nape of her neck to disappear under her collar. In quick, practiced motions, she pulled off her coat and the cape half wrapped around her shoulders, tugged off her shirt. She laid stomach-down on the bed, listened to Bellamy drag a chair across the room and settle next to her.

“How many?” he asked.

“Twenty-six,” Clarke replied evenly.

A moment later, she felt the sharp sting of the needle in her flesh.

\-----

Lexa trudged through the thin layer of snow towards the General’s cabin. She’d never say it out loud, of course, but she was suddenly anxious since offering to tour Azgeda. She hadn’t been north since the war and didn’t know what to expect. Whatever was in store, she was fairly certain it wouldn’t be a warm welcome.

Lexa found Geran lurking outside the door. He’d been loath to leave Clarke’s side since her gallivant off into enemy hands. She raised her hand as if to knock, but found her path blocked by the man’s arm.

“The General’s busy right now,” Geran said.

Lexa studied him, face blank. “What could she possibly be doing right now that can’t be interrupted?”

“I’m sorry, Heda, she asked to be left alone. I’m following orders,” he replied.

“New orders. Step aside.”

“Heda-” Geran began, but was cut off by a muffled voice inside.

“Geran, what’s going on out there?” Clarke called from within the building.

“My apologies, General. Heda didn’t know you were preoccupied.”

There was a beat of silence, some shuffling inside. Then Bellamy opened the door and Clarke’s voice floated out. “It’s okay. You can sleep for the night, Geran. Get some rest, please.”

Lexa brushed past the man, not caring to take in his response. She paused, however, when she found the blonde propped up on the bed, back bare, front hidden in pillows and furs. What did she just interrupt?

She found the answer when the captain resumed his post in the chair at her side, cleaning up the ink and his needle. “That was the last one, Clarke,” he murmured.

“Thanks, Bell,” the blonde responded. Lexa observed in silence as he finished gathering his things. He left the hut, a dark glance over his shoulder.

Clarke peered over her bare shoulder and smiled, “Hey. Did you need something?”

“No, I- no. Your tattoo is beautiful.”

Clarke froze, shirt balled in her hand. She shrugged. Lexa took it as an invitation, crossing the room in two steps to examine it more closely. She itched to reach out and trace the dark lines, but reined herself in.

The solid line at the nape of Clarke’s neck thickened into a tree trunk, and branches stretched over her shoulder blades, scraped across her ribs, wraith-like. The tree hung upside-down, suspended, simple but bold. The wood was detailed and ornamental, but the leaves were simple, more carefully-crafted ovals than anything else. It was lovely, but haunting. Lexa said as much.

Clarke nodded, reaching for her shirt again. Lexa turned to give the other woman some privacy as she dressed.

“Each leaf was a life I took,” Clarke said quietly, after a moment.

Lexa turned to study the General. She was seated on the bed now, lip caught between her teeth. Clarke’s tattoo wasn’t exactly bare of leaves and Lexa’s heart ached for her.

Of course, she had seen plenty of warriors with kill marks tattooed or scarred over their backs. But she had never met a warrior who turned her kill marks into art, as if trying to commit each  life to memory, not boast about a high number.

She sat beside Clarke, waiting for her to continue.

“It’s a bit ironic, isn’t it? Trees are supposed to symbolize life. That’s why mine’s upside-down.”

“To survive, we do what we have to,” Lexa responded simply.

“I know. It’s just- before I killed him, he said that we were the same,” Clarke started. Lexa didn’t have to ask to know she was talking about Arsen. “I didn’t believe him, but now I just can’t get it out of my head. The truth is, I wouldn’t change what I did last night. I wish I had another option, that I didn’t have to kill them, but I don’t regret that I did. I’d do it again if I had to.”

“That feeling fades,” Lexa mused. “It becomes normal, almost.”

“That’s what scares me,” Clarke said sadly. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way, before… everything. I was supposed to help people.” There was a choked emotion in her statement, something Lexa couldn’t quite identify.

“I think I understand. You said you were a healer, right? Your first instinct is to help people.”

“I don’t think most people see it that way,” the blonde said slowly.

Lexa frowned. “You just saved all those villagers, Clarke.”

“By killing twice as many.”

Lexa grabbed her hand, forcing icy blue eyes to meet her own. She spoke softly but with conviction. “Most warriors I know celebrate their victories, not their defeats. You’re a healer, Clarke. You duel with Death every day, and more often than not, you win. Celebrate your victories. Your legacy is the lives you’ve saved, not the ones you’ve lost.”

The blonde swallowed hard, but she smiled. “Thank you, Lexa.”

\-----

Clarke woke up early the next morning to prepare for the journey. She stepped over Raven’s snoring form, huddled into a ball on the cabin floor, and minutes later was stretching in the crisp morning air.

An hour later, the group was finishing their breakfast, comprised of the stag Bellamy had brought down last night after he left Clarke’s cabin. They left the remainder with the grateful villagers and were mounted and riding by midmorning.

Clarke set the pace, an easy walk at first so the horses could warm up. Lexa pulled up alongside her. She had circled the red sash over her ears and nose against the cold. She pulled it down now to speak, her breath clouding the air as she did.

“So, Clarke, where are we going, exactly?” she asked.

Clarke smiled. She was in a good mood, excited to share her home with Lexa. “We’re making our way up to the capital of my territory, Niagara. There are three territories in the clan, each ruled by a general. I’m not sure how far north you wanted to go, so I figured we’d keep to my territory, closer to the border. We’ll visit two or three towns along the way, and then turn around after that.”

Lexa was pleased to feel a smile creeping at her lips. “Alright.”

Clarke kicked her horse into a canter and the party shot across the snowy plain.

\-----

After hours of riding, Lexa was pleased to report that she knew a lot about snow. It was white, it was cold, and it was everywhere. It was on the trees, crusted into her horse’s mane; it blanketed her eyelashes and dusted Clarke’s hair.

After hours of riding, Lexa didn’t have much else to report.

Riding beside her, Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Problem, Heda?”

“I’m starting to think there’s no Azgeda. This is all just an elaborate plan to kidnap me and leave me to freeze.”

Clarke was quiet. Lexa turned her head. “Clarke?”

“Was that- did you just make a joke?”

“The snow’s getting to me. I think it’s affecting my brain.”

A warrior beside her eyed her oddly then pulled ahead, leaving the two to talk. So, what if they hadn’t seen Heda without a serious expression before? She was in the goddamn tundra and she couldn’t feel her toes.

But Clarke was laughing, and Lexa couldn’t bring herself to care. “Remind me to check you for hypothermia next time we rest,” the General said.

“So, is there a city, or is it just more white?” Privately, Lexa was impressed with Clarke’s navigational skills. To her, everything looked the same. Exactly the same.

“There’s a city.”

“What’s in the city?”

“More white.”

Lexa shot her a glare. “Anything else?”

“I suppose,” Clarke said sweetly. “We won’t get there until our last stop on the trip, but Niagara’s beautiful. It also has ice.”

Lexa hung her head back in exasperation. “Snow _and_ ice. Great.” A snowflake drifted into her eye and she had to blink away the blur. “But I think I prefer the trees.”

“Too green.”

“I like the green,” Lexa retorted sharply, seriously, as if the debate was about the stuff more important than a few colors.

“Me too.”

When Lexa looked over, Clarke’s eyes were fixed on her own.

\-----

When the first few buildings came into view, Lexa sat up straighter in her saddle. It was true that she hadn’t seen Azgeda territory in years, and she wanted to make a good impression. But her enthusiasm waned into something else with each horse stride bringing them closer.

Finally, at the outskirts of the town, she had trouble hiding the frown on her face. The buildings were few and looked fragile, as if the winter wind could knock them over if it blew too hard. There were empty plots, eerily bare – no doubt where a house once stood, long since burnt down. The area was cleared of debris, but the signs of war persisted.

With a jolt, Lexa realized that the last village wasn’t such a downcast place because of Arsen's attack. It was just Azgeda.

Clarke must have noticed her expression. “It’s been hard to rebuild, since your- since the war,” she explained.

“Since my army marched on the Azgeda capital, you mean,” was Lexa’s only response.

Clarke looked conflicted but nodded. “We try to help out, my warriors and I, when we’re on patrols.” She shrugged. “But there’s just too much to do. Most towns are better off than this one, since they’re closer to Niagara and I’m able to travel there more often.”

Lexa turned from her analysis of the buildings around them to study Clarke’s face instead. “But you’re proud of what you have accomplished,” she wondered out loud, immediately knowing her assumption to be correct.

“I’m proud of our resilience,” she said simply.

Lexa turned back to the town, noticing its residents for the first time. They were lively, smiling. A pack of giggling children ran from behind one house, yelling something in the Azgeda tongue. The little boy in the front of the group skidded to a halt, seeing Clarke. Her pointed at her and began chattering excitedly and a moment later, the General was engulfed in a group of beaming children.

Lexa watched as Clarke jumped down from her horse to reply to something the boy said, switching to another language that Lexa recognized as an old, tribal Azgeda dialect, though she didn't understand it. The blonde’s voice was throaty and her consonants hard, but it was melodic, flowing smoothly like a gentle wind. Lexa decided that she liked it.

Then Clarke was looking back at Lexa with a glint in her eye. The blonde switched into Trigedasleng. “Guys, I want you to meet my friend, Heda. She’s come to visit us here.”

The boy looked over to Lexa shyly, barely meeting her eyes. Clarke crouched to whisper something in his ear, and he trudged up to Lexa’s horse bashfully.

“Hei, Heda,” he said. “Thank you for coming to visit us.”

Lexa was taken aback, but she nodded. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

The boy broke into a wide grin, displaying a gap - he was missing his two missing front teeth - and skipped off with the rest of his friends.

Later, after helping Clarke fortify an old fence for livestock, she would see the little boy playing with his friends by the fire, waving around a long stick like a sword. He had a bright strip of red cloth tied around his neck, the color eerily similar to Lexa’s own cloak. Lexa knew for a fact that Clarke slipped him the gift from her saddlebag when she thought Lexa’s back was turned, and she smiled.

\-----

They left the next morning, and Clarke took up her usual position riding at Lexa’s right. But this morning, Clarke had a hint of a smile on her face.

Lexa took the bait. “What are you thinking about?”

“Niagara. I’m excited to be back home.”

While they were on the road, Clarke had talked extensively about the city. It was obvious it held a special place in her heart.

“And I’m excited to see Accalia,” Clarke continued, but Lexa drowned out the rest of her statement.

Clarke had never mentioned anyone waiting for her back home. Lexa had a tickle in the back of her throat that she had to cough away before she spoke. “Who?”

“My wolf.”

Lexa twisted her head around, staring at Clarke with wide eyes. “Your what?”

“Wolf. You know, four legs, head, tail, cute little nose.”

It had to be a joke, but Clarke was serious as could be. “Aren’t those dangerous?” Lexa asked slowly, as if talking to a child.

“What? No! She’d never hurt me.”

“You’re literally wearing a wolf’s pelt as part of your jacket.”

“Okay, that- that was actually a funny story. A scary story, but it was so worth it. But Accalia, she isn’t like that. I’ve known her for years. She saved my life.”

Lexa waited, but Clarke had fallen quiet. “Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“You can’t just say that, and then not share the story about how this wolf saved your life,” Lexa said, inward amusement growing exponentially.

“Oh, right. Sorry. I was a new second, sent out with some of the other seconds into the forest to hunt a bear.”

At Lexa’s raised eyebrow: “It’s tradition, Lexa.”

“I didn’t say anything. Continue.”

“Okay, well anyway, we had Accalia with us. She was the runt of the litter, so none of the warriors wanted her. I think it was out of pity- they couldn’t just send us all alone, so they sent her with us. Eventually, we came to a big clearing and saw the bear on the other side. I was bait, drawing it out to where the others were hiding.

“So, I ran out across the clearing, yelling to get its attention. Except, it wasn’t a clearing. It was a pond. A big pond with a thin sheet of ice, all hidden under the snow. I got out far enough and there was a loud crack. At that point, I realized something was wrong. And the next thing I knew, I was under the water.”

“That must have been…” Lexa said softly, trailing off.

“I don’t remember much of it,” Clarke said, shrugging. “I know I my clothes weighed me down and I kept hitting my hands on the ice. They got all bloody. I don’t remember how I got to the shore. But everyone there, they were all in a panic, running back towards camp for help. But Accalia… she laid down on top of me. Just sat there, in the snow, and wouldn’t let me get up.”

“And that saved you?”

“I couldn’t feel the cold. I was in shock, and I didn’t realize that I was sitting there, out in the wind, with these wet, freezing clothes. But Accalia warmed me up. I mean, once I started regaining feeling, it hurt like hell, don’t get me wrong. But she did save me.”

Lexa looked at her through understanding eyes. “And you’ve been together since?”

Clarke smiled crookedly. “When I became a captain, she became mine officially, but yeah, we’ve been together since.”

\-----

The next day, they reached another town, this one much bigger and in better repair. Clarke explained to Lexa that she had been able to convince Queen Nia to send materials to help the town rebuild, since the town sat amid an apple orchard. It was left unspoken that Nia rarely sent aid, but apparently the Queen made an exception this time: she had a taste for fruit.

It was something Lexa had meditated on as she traveled through Azgeda. Queen Nia obviously held little to no regard for her people… if they weren’t in her army, they weren’t worth her time. Lexa didn’t have any idea the conditions were this bad. As Clarke had pointed out, Azgeda’s people were a strong group, but nobody should have to live in a civilization a shell of its former.

Lexa helped Clarke where she could, planting and building and completing other miscellaneous chores the villages needed done. She was heartened to know that at least the General cared about the people’s wellbeing. After checking in with Clarke, she had sent a note back to Polis ordering supplies sent to Niagara for Clarke’s warriors to distribute. It was the least she could do.

She definitely held onto some underlying guilt. Not for marching on Azgeda; that was necessary. But not for seeing the continued conditions afterwards. She knew logically, that she couldn’t have known about it outside of traveling in the land she hadn’t exactly been welcome in. But it still hurt her to see the damage. Now more than ever, she was determined to repair relations between Polis and Azgeda.

Clarke must have noticed Lexa’s deep contemplation, for after a long day of meeting this town’s overly-enthusiastic leaders, she led Lexa just outside of the village walls into a grove of apple trees. Night had fallen, and the noise from the village melted away under dark boughs. The silence was soft, muffled.

Clarke unfolded a large blanket and sat in the snow, pulling it around her shoulders. Lexa hesitated at Clarke’s expectant look.

“What are we doing out here?” she asked.

Clarke snorted. “It looked like the man who gave the tour was boring you.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding,” Clarke said. “You wanted to see my home, so this is my Azgeda. The version without all the warriors crawling over you.”

“They were hardly-” she started.

Clarke interrupted, holding out an arm. “Lexa. The cold bites more than I do. Come here.”

Lexa huffed. It was undignified, really. Heda sitting on the ground. Huddling up against some general. She opened her mouth to say as much but closed it again when Clarke raised an eyebrow.

She took one step, two, before dropping to the ground, mindful to keep space between her and the blonde. She lifted a corner of the blanket, shuffling underneath. Lexa couldn’t see Clarke in the dark, but she swore the other woman rolled her eyes before sliding closer, pressing her side against Lexa and tightening the blanket around the two.

Lexa stiffened. But before she could fall into a spiral of her own thoughts, Clarke spoke up.

“That’s Orion,” she said softly.

“What?”

The blonde chuckled and tilted Lexa’s chin upwards to the stars. Lexa shivered at the stroke of fingers on her jaw.

“Orion,” the General continued. “The hunter. See those three stars in a row, there? That’s his belt. And there’s his bow.”

As Clarke pointed up at the stars, tracing invisible lines, Lexa tried her best to follow the woman’s hand, hardly visible in the night. But she saw a rough outline begin to form and nodded along.

“In those stars, I grew up seeing Lyam, an old Trikru legend,” she said.

“Show me?” Clarke asked.

Lexa pointed out the same stars, tracing out pictures of the ancient warrior. “He pledged his life to Bekka Pramheda and defended her for many years before he laid down his life in battle to protect her.”

Clarke was silent for a moment. Lexa turned to see the woman still staring up intently at the stars, almost as if searching for something else in the sky. But with a small sigh, she came back to the present.

The blonde spoke softly. “That’s a sad story.”

“Yes, it is. But it’s a noble one, too.” And then a pause. “Will you tell me about Orion?”

The blonde began to recount the tale of the hunter, and Lexa let the voice lull her into a calm trance, relaxing against the blonde’s form. She watched her breath cloud in the air and felt the low vibrations of Clarke’s frame as she spoke. She listened to the faint chirping of grasshoppers hidden in the grass around them and she was happy.

Clarke finished her story and the two sat in a companionable silence. That was, until Clarke started chuckling to herself.

“What?” Lexa asked, suspicious.

“Sorry. I just wish it was actually apple season, so you could try one.” Clarke gestured to the grove around them.

“I’ve had an apple before, Clarke,” Lexa intoned dryly.

“Shut up.”

“I thought you said you didn’t bite,” Lexa replied with a smile.

Clarke’s tone turned teasing. “I never said that. I just said it wasn’t as bad as the wind.”

Lexa laughed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized she hadn’t laughed in a long time.

Clarke jumped up suddenly, startling Lexa. The sudden empty chill at her side was almost painful.

“Sorry, I just had an idea. Wait here for a second,” Clarke burst out, then disappeared into the trees.

Lexa was wondering what the hell had just happened when the blonde came back, burrowing under the blanket once more. She pressed a cup into Lexa’s hand.

“Drink that,” she demanded.

“What is it?”

“Drink it.”

“I hope you’re not trying to poison me, Clarke,” Lexa said, but she took a sip. It was watery and thin; tasted sweet, woody, warm.

“It’s good,” Lexa said, surprised. It really was. She took another sip.

“We call it maple,” Clarke said. “It’s made from the tree sap.”

“And you’re sure it’s not poisonous?”

Clarke bumped their shoulders together. “Yeah, I’m sure. You and me, we’re not done yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is done (yay!) and you'll see it next week. It features drama, battles, and romance... what more could you ask for?!
> 
> Comments, kudos, virtual hugs!
> 
> (But seriously. Comments.)


	8. We Are Travelers, Part II

Two days later, the outline of Niagara had grown in the distance, no longer the dark blur on the horizon. They had been riding along the cliff above the frozen river for some time, but now, the sheets of ice became more jagged and broken. Ahead, Lexa could hear the dull roar of the water that seemed to tumble off the world ahead.

Clarke followed her gaze. “I can take you to the Falls later, if you want,” she murmured.

Lexa simply nodded and turned her head forward, studying the entrance as it came into focus. This city was more reminiscent of Polis, much larger than the other Azgeda towns had been. The streets were wide and lined with buildings of every shape and size.

Before she could take in her surroundings, however, a gray shadow at the nearest building leapt to its feet and broke into a run. Mildly alarmed, she turned to Clarke, who had a smile splitting her face.

“Accalia,” she said by way of explanation. “Somehow, she always seems to know when I’m coming back.”

Clarke dismounted her horse in time for the wolf to tackle her in a manner eerily similar to a hug. Clarke ran her hand through the beast’s fur while Accalia crooned softly. The wolf’s dark gray coat  faded to white on her stomach and legs, and with the exception of her dark nose, Lexa could see how she would blend into the snow quite easily. Lexa wasn’t above admitting that she looked rather fluffy.

Despite the wolf’s generally non-threatening nature, Lexa couldn’t help but be taken aback. Accalia was as tall as Clarke when the General knelt to play with her. Standing, the wolf would reach just above her waist.

“ _She’s_ the runt of the litter?” Lexa had to ask.

Clarke looked up with rosy cheeks and winked.

Before Lexa could comment, a woman with dirty blonde hair jogged through a doorway, pulling Clarke into a tight hug.

“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be some fancy Polis guard, now,” the woman asked. “Did you give up on working with Heda so soon?”

“The opposite, actually,” Clarke said, glancing over her shoulder towards Lexa. “Harper, this is Heda. She’s touring a small portion of our territory in the southeast. Heda, this is Harper, another of my captains. She’s in charge here while I’m in Polis.”

Lexa tilted her head regally while Harper dipped into a deeper bow. She didn’t wait for Lexa to release her, rather straightening to survey the other woman.

“I’m glad you decided to visit,” she said, honestly ringing in her tone. 

“Oh great, Griffin’s back,” drawled a low voice from down the street. Lexa turned with the others to see a man approaching, dark hair hanging over his ears and into his green eyes. A fierce scowl split his dirty face.

“Murphy,” Harper said, frowning.

“Your highness.” He dropped into a mocking curtsy before Clarke. Lexa felt something start to boil under her skin, and the warriors around her shifted uncomfortably.

But Harper was grabbing at his jacket, dragging him away. “See you later, Clarke. Glad we met, Heda. If you excuse me, I have some business to attend to,” she said. Murphy wiggled his fingers over his shoulder in a wave.

“Sorry, he’s an ass. Ignore him,” Clarke said, turning to Lexa.

“You put up with him frequently?”

“He’s family,” Clarke said simply. “Remind me, and I’ll tell you the story one day.”

\-----

After almost a month away, Clarke was back home. Harper was showing Lexa around the city, so Clarke took the opportunity to pack up some things she hadn’t brought with her to Polis originally. She hadn’t been expecting Heda to offer her a position as Chief of Guard, nor had she been expecting to stay in the capital for an extended period of time. Luckily, she packed light, and only wanted to grab a few things to bring back with her to Polis.

She lived in a building she recognized as a firehouse from the old movies she used to watch on the Ark. Most of her friends from the Ark, now turned advisors and captains, lived there. They used the bottom floor for meetings and had transformed some of the back rooms into bedrooms. Most of the top floor had been destroyed in the nuclear fallout all those years ago, but portions of it had been built back up by Azgeda. Clarke made the top floor her own. It was nice being so close to her friends, but sometimes she craved a space to herself.

She walked into her bedroom, brushing her hand over the desk in one corner, her fingers leaving trails in the thin layer of dust. On one wall, miraculously still intact, was a giant pane of glass set into the grayed brick. She splayed her hand over the cold window, grateful that Harper, at least, was still in residence and heating the building, and watched the snow dance to the ground outside.

She took a moment to stare down the street outside, smiling softly at the battered houses, reinforced with wood and stone, metal and brightly-colored cloth. Then she turned away, kneeling, and pried up a floorboard at the corner of her bed.

From the space she pulled out a small wooden box, simple in design, with a few ornate leaves carved into the lid. She pulled open the top, found the dull metal of her father’s watch. It had long since stopped working, but as she held it in her palm, she stared down at the face fondly. She put it back in the box, next to that dark braid of curly hair she had kept all these years, and closed the lid, plunging both items back into darkness.

\-----

Clarke stood beside Lexa on the roof of her home, surveying the city of Niagara spread below them. The next morning, they would begin the journey back to Polis, and now, with the knowledge that she’d be gone for months, Clarke wanted to drink in her city for a while.

She turned to Lexa, offering the other woman a shrug. “It’s not quite as impressive as Polis.”

But Lexa smiled, and Clarke was happy to note that it was a genuine, warm smile. “It’s very impressive in its own right, Clarke. All of Azgeda is.”

Clarke turned back, watching the sunset tinge the snow a deep purple and reflect orange and pink off the frozen river to the west. It truly was impressive. A mile or so away, the pair could see the icy drop of Niagara Falls. The sense of disappointment was crushing, but it was too difficult to scale down the icy cliffs during this time of year to properly show Lexa the Falls. Next time, she had promised. She’d show Lexa next time.

“Honestly, Clarke, I didn’t know what to expect, but Azgeda- your home is amazing. Your people are hardworking and thoughtful… I’ve gained a new respect. For them and for you.”

Clarke laid her hand over Lexa’s on the railing and it was answer enough.

“I hated you, when you first came to Polis. After everything Nia had taken from me, all that anger blurred together into Azgeda, into you,” Lexa said. She bit her lip and regarded Clarke with a soft gaze. “But I never realized that you had just as much reason to hate me.”

“I don’t.” Clarke was quick to jump in. “Maybe I wanted to, maybe that would make it easier. But you were fighting for your people just as much as I was fighting for mine in the war. I can’t hate that passion and loyalty if I share it.”

Lexa smiled at the compliment but shook her head. “What I’m saying is, I see Azgeda now. I really see it. It’s beautiful, how in spite of everything, the obstacles and the hardships and unimaginable suffering… it’s beautiful how you’ve survived.”

It was true. But for Clarke, it was more than that.

“We have,” Clarke said. “But spending my time here, I’ve learned that maybe life should be about more than just surviving.” Her voice was soft as she regarded the powerful woman next to her in the dying light. “Don’t we deserve better than that?”

The air was cool against her skin and everything was calm. Lexa stood a pace down the railing, staring at her intently. But in the next moment, Lexa had closed the gap in a stride and Clarke could feel her fingers resting lightly on her hips, the warmth of her body close to her own. Clarke had to tilt her head up to meet Lexa’s eyes, and when she did, the Commander’s were trained downward, her lips parted. Clarke could count the little freckles across her cheeks if her heart wasn’t beating too quickly to focus.

Lexa leaned in, slowly, and Clarke sucked in a breath. Lexa paused, as if waiting for the other girl’s permission. Clarke just cupped Lexa’s jaw gently in her hands, feeling the brunette shiver, and closed the space between their lips. Lexa’s lips were soft and warm and everything Clarke had imagined. Her fingers dug into the fabric at Clarke’s waist, and Clarke twisted her fingers into Lexa’s hair.

A few moments later, Lexa pulled away. She took a healthy step backward, cheeks slightly pinker than they had been minutes before. She searched Clarke’s face, a question clear in her eyes. The blonde just stepped back into her space, taking her hands, and left a short, chaste kiss on the Commander’s lips.

“Goodnight, Heda,” she said, voice quiet and steady. Lexa was smiling widely.

“Goodnight, General.”

\-----

Lexa was deep in her thoughts when Clarke raised her hand in a fist, signaling a stop. They had been on the road for two days and just crossed the border back into Trikru territory. Lexa wouldn’t lie; she’d been relieved when the snow melted away to grass and she could see the dirt again. Hooves sounded to her left and Lexa looked over to see Clarke’s horse trotting up alongside her own.

“Sorry, do you mind if we stop for a few minutes? I want to sell off this extra meat we’re carrying from last night. I know a place, I just forgot it was so close, otherwise I would’ve told you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Lexa replied, taking in the clearing. It wasn’t anything special – the same sunlight filtering through the trees, the same soft ambiance from the wind shaking branches and faraway birdsong. There was a creek nearby, Lexa could hear it, and tucked into the trees was a little stone building.

Clarke dismounted, and Geran moved to follow her, but Clarke waved him off. “Don’t worry, I don’t think my life is in any immediate danger.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lexa could see Clarke’s friends shoot each other a knowing look. Raven hopped off her horse’s back, pulling her pack with her, and punched it into a pillow against a nearby stone. Satisfied, she folded her hands behind her neck and closed her eyes.

“Take all the time you need, boss. We’ll be here,” Raven said.

Clarke rolled her eyes at Raven’s dramatics and turned to Lexa. She looked good today, Lexa thought. Her hair, braided back, held a dull glow in the sunlight, not the hard sheen it had in the snow. She had taken off her coat, probably hot now that they were in a warmer region, and Lexa could see shadows of muscle below the dark fabric clinging to her shoulders.

“Lexa?” From Clarke’s expression, it was not the first time she said her name.

“Yes?”

“I asked if you were coming,” Clarke said. “I need help carrying this deer.”

Lexa stared down haughtily at Clarke’s warriors stretched across the ground. “They’re incapable?”

“Just between you and me, they look tired. Made of weaker stuff,” Clarke jested.

Lexa was careful to hide her smirk when Raven, eyes still closed, lifted her fist with the middle finger raised to the sky.

“Heda, I can carry it.” It was one of her own warriors, off to the side.

“No, I’ll do it. Rest for a couple minutes, give the horses water,” Lexa responded. And to Clarke:  “My warriors seem to have no problem. The weaker stuff- it must be your Azgeda upbringing.”

Though Raven’s eye twitched, she didn’t move to show Lexa the same finger.

The pair walked through the door a minute later, carcass heavy over their shoulders. Clarke guided them to a nearby table, where they shrugged off the animal.

View unobstructed, Lexa straightened to take in her surroundings. Where there weren’t windows, the room was lit by candles, revealing tables of fur and bones and dried meat. There were blankets stacked against the wall and a row of tools crafted from bits of metal. In the back of the room, Lexa could see a workbench, and tucked to the side, a door, through which now emerged a tall blonde woman.

Lexa’s hand drifted to her sword at the stranger's approach, but Clarke had already dashed forward to greet her.

“Niylah!” she exclaimed, grabbing the other woman’s forearm and pulling her into a hug.

“Clarke,” Niylah said, pleasant surprise clear on her face. “It’s been too long.”

Lexa eased the grip on her sword, but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders.

“And this is- oh, Heda,” Niylah said when her eyes caught the red silk on Lexa’s shoulders. She dropped into a bow. “Welcome. I am Niylah and I own this trade stop.”

“Greetings, Niylah,” Lexa responded.

The other woman smiled, eyes bright. “What are you doing here, Clarke? With the Commander, no less. Can I get you something?”

“We’re on our way back from Azgeda,” Clarke said, moving to sit on the table behind her. She paused, raising a quizzical eyebrow, and tapped her fist on the wood. The table groaned and a plank came loose. Clarke crossed her arms and remained standing.

Across from her, Niylah was trying to hide her amusement.

“You still haven’t fixed this, Niylah? It’s been months,” Clarke said.

“I’ve had more important things to do,” she responded, wrinkling her nose. “Plus, I’ve had less help around here recently. Remind me, who’s fault is that?” she asked with a pointed look.

If it weren't so undignified, Lexa might have huffed. But Accalia chose that moment to trot into the trade stop. Upon seeing Niylah, she started wagging her tail wildly. Traitor. The woman dropped down and ran a hand through the wolf’s fur.

Clarke was negotiating with the woman about trading the deer – Niylah was having trouble accepting it free of charge, it seemed – but Lexa was focused on how the General seemed so at home. She moved like she was familiar with the place, ducking under beams without having to check, like she knew where they’d be without looking. It was obvious she had spent a lot of time in the place. And for some reason, Lexa didn’t like that. Niylah hadn't done anything wrong, but Lexa couldn't shake the feeling. Her intense dislike for Niylah - it was consuming. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to delve too deep into the reason behind it all.

“Do we have time to catch up?” Niylah was asking.

Lexa had to temper her glare in Niylah’s direction.  

Clarke shook her head, expression regretful. “We really have to get going. Coalition to run. Thanks, Niylah.”

“I’m happy to see you, Clarke, anytime,” Niylah said, face soft. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Heda.” She dipped in a bow once more.

“May we meet again,” Clarke said, and the other blonde straightened to shake her forearm again.

“Shall we, Heda?” Clarke asked with a smile, gesturing back toward the door. Lexa nodded and they departed, Accalia at their heels.

\-----

They were nearly back to Polis when the group halted for a few minutes to let their horses drink from the nearby lake to recuperate. It was warmer now, and Clarke had rolled up her sleeves around her elbows as she leaned back, soaking in the sun. Boots in a pile at her side, she dipped her toes in the lake and watched the sunlight sparkle off the water. Some way down, Raven was in the water to her calves, splashing up great waves towards an unimpressed Octavia sitting on the bank.

At the soft footsteps behind her, Clarke turned to see Lexa’s approach. The brunette opted to sit on a log, eyeing the mud with not-so-subtle distaste. Clarke bit back her smile.

“General,” Lexa said formally, hands clasped in her lap.

“Heda,” Clarke responded, teasing lilt to her voice.

The Commander turned her head sharply. “I was wondering if you had any updates.”

“On what, exactly? We’ve been traveling together for the past two weeks, and I haven’t exactly had the chance to sneak away.”

“Yes. I mean, how are you?”

Clarke sighed, brushing a tangled mess of blonde hair from her eyes. “Lexa, look, we don’t have to do this whole awkward thing. If you regret what happened, it’s no big deal.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Really, it’s fine, I get- oh.” It took a moment for Clarke’s head to catch up with her mouth, and even then, she was a bit shocked. Lexa had been acting a bit distant since they crossed back into Trikru territory, and she had to wonder if their shared moment in Niagara was to blame. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“I don’t regret it, Clarke.” Lexa paused, seeming to search for the words. More hesitantly, she continued, “I admire you. You’re a strong leader and a fierce warrior.”

“Thank you,” Clarke said, still taken aback.

“But if _you_ regret it, I understand.”

“Lexa. Trust me, regret is the last thing on my mind.”

The Commander smiled. It was shy, and Clarke didn’t think she’d ever seen the expression on Lexa’s face.

“Since Costia, it’s been difficult, but…”

And Lexa kept talking, but Clarke lost her somewhere. She fixed her eyes on the ripples in the water, trying to shove down the hollow bubble slowly rising in her stomach.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought of it. Costia and the circumstances surrounding her death had been on Clarke’s mind quite frequently as of late. But how could she possibly explain it? She couldn’t say that it was only her fifth month on the planet after living in space her entire life. It was hard enough to talk about _why_ she had landed herself in prison in the first place, and to explain that Costia was just the terrible price she had to pay to get out… how did she tell Lexa that the memory still haunted her today?

Clarke didn’t know how. But she’d try.

“Lexa,” Clarke croaked out, her voice rough.

The brunette fixed her gaze on Clarke. Behind the black warpaint, her eyes were warm.

“Look, I need to tell you something. Promise me you’ll listen to the whole story,” the blonde continued.

“Of course, Clarke-” Lexa began, but then her voice broke off into a shout.

Clarke whipped her head around in the direction of Lexa’s line of sight, and found that the gentle ripples in the water weren’t that, but rather the rhythmic pattern of _something_ underwater, cutting quickly towards shore.

There was a vice-like grip around her shoulders, and she found herself dragged from the water, pressed against Lexa’s front. There was another scream, this one high-pitched and pained, and Clarke jerked her head around to see Raven bent at the waist, thrashing at something by her leg, dark red tainting the water around her.

And Clarke paused. For just one fraction of a second, she paused. But in that second, it wasn’t a lake in Trikru but the pines in Azgeda, that first month they landed before Roan found them. It wasn’t Raven, sobbing in the shallows, but Raven, trapped under the giant wolf. And Clarke wasn’t the general of armies, respected by her allies and feared by her enemies, but a scared little girl in a new place with no real understanding of how the world worked.

And then Lexa, suddenly behind Raven, pulled the woman from the water and the spell was broken. Raven collapsed on the shore, hand pressed hard against the blood gushing from her thigh, and Clarke was suddenly crouched beside her without realizing that she’d moved.

She took a deep breath, let it out. Forced the tremble from her hands, locked away the memory, and started barking out orders.

\-----

Lexa paced while Clarke knelt over her friend. She felt useless. She knew that she’d only get in Clarke’s way, and she’d run out of things to fetch. They needed to get back to Polis quickly, but Clarke had to finish wrapping Raven’s leg so she didn’t bleed out. So, Lexa was waiting. Adrenaline-filled, jumpy, pacing, and waiting.

“Heda!”

It was one of her guards. Shoulders bulked up, weapon drawn, he faced down another man with muddy and torn clothes; a face streaked with blood and heavy with scar tissue.

Reapers. Attracted by the smell of blood.

Another crawled from the hill, followed by another. More and more emerged, sniffing and breaking into joyous cackles upon seeing Raven. The Reapers traveled in groups of three or four, Lexa knew, but this was something else, more like a pack.

Lexa watched as Clarke lifted her head, expression dark, hand flitting to the knife at her side.

“No, Clarke, just help Raven.”

Clarke shot Lexa a grateful look over her shoulder and renewed her wrapping of Raven’s injury with twice the speed, ignoring the crimson dots already soaking through the makeshift bandage. Lexa turned back to square up the Reapers. Their numbers were equal, but the Reapers were maniacal.

Lexa had barely said “go” and drawn her sword before a feathered arrow whisked past her shoulder and embedded itself into the eye of the nearest Reaper. He roared in anger, scratching at his face, but kept coming, oblivious to the pain. And rapidly, the clearing descended into chaos.

The nearest Reaper, a brawny man, charged and Lexa stepped out of the path of his axe. He swung again, and Lexa was content to stay just out of reach. Baiting him, his next swing was sloppy, and as he raised his arms over his head to let the axe fly, Lexa darted forward to leave a large gash across his side.

He stumbled. From his roar of pain, it seemed the attack had only served to incense him. She lifted her sword again, but caught movement out of the corner of her eye and quickly sidestepped to the left as a second Reaper charged.

Accalia came chasing from the fray, rearing up on her hind legs to match the other Reaper’s height. She slammed her paws into the man’s shoulders, bringing them both crashing to the ground. Her maw closed around his throat and Lexa turned back to the first man in time to duck beneath the axe.

She went on the offense, stabbing with her sword in fast, confident strokes. The Reaper was able to block a majority with the long wooden axe handle, but when Lexa caught his fingers with one particularly forceful blow, he dropped the weapon with a howl of anger. He quickly shifted gears, bodily launching himself into a tackle, but her sword was waiting and he crumpled to the ground.

Lexa quickly scanned her surroundings. Many of the Reapers had fallen, but it was hard to tell the difference between friend and foe amidst all the confusion. She saw Geran fighting off two men at Clarke’s side and sped in that direction.

A Reaper had his clawed fingers on Clarke’s shoulder and was readying a blow with a knife when Lexa grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him backwards off the blonde. Enraged, he spun around. When he struck, she grabbed his arm with her free hand, twisting the knife out of his fingers. She stabbed the sword towards his stomach, but it only dented the armor around his chest. Grabbing her shoulders, the Reaper slammed their foreheads together, and the headbutt left her staggering.

Lexa blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear her vision. The spots faded and she spit out a wad of blood. Instead of the attack she was anticipating, she found Geran had surprised her own assailant from behind, pinning his arms behind his back. In two steps, she buried her sword in the man’s exposed side and he fell. Geran grunted something that sounded like begrudging admiration in her direction.

They turned back to the field to find that the remainder of the Reapers were dead. Her warriors stood panting.

“Report,” Lexa called.

“Heda, we lost one. Besides that, only minor injuries.”

From behind her, Clarke spoke. “Raven’s leg is stable for now, Lexa. We need to get back to Polis quickly, though, before she loses more blood.”

“Okay, let’s get her on a horse.”

Lexa crossed the field, wiping the sweat from her face. Her hand came away flecked with blood. It wasn’t hers.

Crossing the field, she knelt beside her fallen warrior and recognized him as the one who had shot the first arrow. He was young and a good fighter. “Yu gonplei ste odon,” she whispered, touching his forehead.

After a beat of silence, she stood, catching Clarke’s saddened gaze. She swung a leg into the saddle and pointed her horse towards Polis. “We’re not too far out. Let’s go.”

\-----

Back in Polis, Lexa handed off her reins to a waiting servant and watched Clarke jog back toward the tower alongside Geran, who was carrying Raven bridal-style – much to the small brunette’s chagrin. Lexa sighed, scrapping a splash of dried blood off the back of her hand. Though her calm expression didn’t show it, she was immensely relieved that the remainder of their group had arrived safely.

Someone called her name behind her; she turned to see the servant standing a few feet back.

“Heda,” he said, cradling a small carved wooden box, “I found this in the General’s saddlebag. She left it in her rush to help her friend.”

“I’ll take it.”

He bowed, placing the box delicately in Lexa’s hands. She turned toward the tower, dissolving into her own thoughts as she climbed the stairs towards Clarke’s room.

She opened the door to Clarke’s room, allowing her gaze to flit over the slight disarray, a byproduct of Clarke’s rapid departure a few weeks prior. It was evident she had swept papers off her desk and left her clothing strewn about as she searched for her weapons. A drawer was open, hanging slightly askew, a couple empty glass vials at the bottom.

Lexa looked down at the ornate little box in her hands. The metal hinge on the lid was busted, likely bashed in at some point during the battle, and now the top poked up unevenly on one side. Placing the box in the middle of Clarke’s bed, she hoped that whatever was inside wasn’t too fragile.

But as she turned away, a flash caught her eye. She had laid the box in a beam of sunlight, and it was angled just right so that through the gap between the side and the lid, something was glimmering.

Before she could register her own movement, she was bent over the box, lifting up the lid.

She quickly realized two things. One, the reflection came from what seemed to be some sort of bracelet, with a clear face set in metal and a thick strap of black fabric. The glass, covering a bronze rod, was cracked.

But the first realization was drowned out by the second: there was something else in the box.

When Lexa lifted the curly black braid from the box, her heart stopped. The silence around her was choking. Time stood still.

She stroked shaky fingers over the hair and she knew. Logically, she knew there was no way to know for sure, but in her gut, the deafening truth was irrefutable. 

After all, hadn’t she spent hours tangling her hands in those black locks all those years ago? Hadn’t she woken up with it in the morning, opening her eyes to loving eyes and a sweet smile?

The spell of silence was broken by a loud rhythm in her ears. Her heartbeat – in her shock, it had taken her a second to place it.

She let out a trembling breath, and of their own accord, her lips whispered, “Costia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoomp, there it is... They were happy for all of two minutes, damn it!
> 
> **Next time:**  
>  The reckoning. The regret. Things get complicated.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments, kudos, virtual hugs!


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